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WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 



^ I3ioi9ra|jI)ical Sketrl) 



SELECTIONS KROM HIS POEMS AND 
OTHER WRITINGS 



BY 

ANDREW JAMES SYMINGTON, F.R.S.N.A. 

AUTHOR OF 
■SAMUEL LOTEB, A BJOGRArHICAL SKETCH" "THOMAS MOORE, THE POET " ETC. 



NEW YORK 
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 

1880 



By ANDREW JAMES SYMINGTON". 

SAMUEL LOVER. A Biographical Sketch. With Selections frora 
his Writings and Correspondence. 16mo, Cloth, '75 cents. 

THOMAS MOORE, the Poet : His Life and Works. 16mo, Cloth, 

75 cents. 

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

jg@=- Either of the above worJcs will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any 
part of the United States, on receipt of the price. 



Gift Gf 

Seiut.-el Kay KsMiffmaas 

26 MAR I90r 



Published with the concurrence of the representative of the estate of 
the late William CvMen Bryant^ and of the publishers of Mr. Bryanfs 
works. 



TO 
The Hon. TAUL ANSEL CHADBOUENE, LL.D., &c. &c. &c., 

Pkesident of Williams College, 

Bekkshire County, Massachusetts, 

which ti3ie-h0n0ueed institution 

WAS 

William Cullen Bryant's Alma Matek, 

THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 
BY 

HIS OLD FRIEND, AND FELLOW-TRAVELLER, 

A. J. SYMINGTON. 

Langside, Glasgow. 



PEE FACE. 



In this volume we have endeavoured shortly to present the 
life-career, and writings, of Bryant the Poet — who was also 
editor, traveller, citizen, and philanthropist ; and who, though 
younger than Dana, was, nevertheless, the patriarch of Ameri- 
can poetical literature. Wherever possible, we have left him 
to speak for himself, quoting freely from his correspondence 
and writings, including in the former several of his letters 
which now appear in print for the first time. 

To friends who '-ave given us valuable aid, we acknowledge 
obligations ; especially to General James Grant Wilson, who, 
having enjoyed Bryant's friendship for more than a quarter 
of a century, has kindly furnished us with much information 
regarding him both from personal and manuscript sources. We 
have also consulted, or quoted from, the published writings or 
addresses of Godwin, Bigelow, Curtis, Stedman, Stoddard, 
Dana, Eay Palmer, Mark Hopkins, Jones, Osgood, Bellows, 
Hunger, Hill, Miller, and othei-s; to each and all of whom 
we respectfully acknowledge indebtedness. 

We earnestly hope that what we have here lovingly written 
of William Cullen Bryant, may induce some, who are passing 
by on the dusty roads of life, to drink of the clear, cool, peren- 
nial spring, which wells up, for their refreshment, in his pure 
and elevating poetry. 

A. J. S. 

langslde, Glasgow. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. Page 

Introductort, 9 

CHAPTER II. 

1794-1806 : Birth, Parentage, and Early Days—* The Eivulet,' 14 

CHAPTER III. 

1806-1811 : The Boy Poet and Student Days—' The Embargo,' 29 

CHAPTER IV. 

1811-1820: ' Thanatopsis ' — Plainfield and Great Barrington 
— ' Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood ' — ' Green Ri ver ' 
— ' To a Waterfowl '— ' Oh Fairest of the Rural Maids,' 45 

CHAPTER V. 

1821-1825: Great Barrington— His Marriage— 'The Ages'— 
Publishes a Volume — Indian Poems — 'The Yellow Violet' 
— ' Monument Mountain ' — ' A Forest Hymn ' — ' Autumn 
Woods' — 'June' — Abandons Law, ... 66 

CHAPTER VI. 

1825-1830: Literary Associates and Society in New York — 
Magazine Editing — ' The Death of the Flowers ' — Takes 
to Journalism, ... ... ... ... ... ... 08 

CHAPTER VIL 

1826-1878 : His Editorial Career, 105 

CHAPTER VIIL 

1827-1832: Literary Work— Poems Published in New York 
and London — Volume Favourably Received — ' The Poet ' ' 
— ' A Winter Piece ' — ' Summer Wind ' — ' Song ' — ' The 
African Chief '— ' The Evening Wind '—Translations, ... 132 



VI CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER IX. 



Page 



1834-1857 : Bryant's First Four Visits to the Old World, and 
his Travels in America — 'The Future Life' — Delivers 
Addresses on Cole and Cooper — Cedarmere and his Home- 
life, 156 

CHAPTER X. 

1857-1866: Again Visits Europe — His Baptism at Naples — His 
Wife's Illness and Recovery — * The Life that is ' — ' The 
Third of November ' — Addresses — Cummington — Seven- 
tieth Birth-day Presentation — ' The Death of Lincoln ' — 
Death of his Wife, ... 170 

CHAPTER XL 

1867-1876: Last Visit to Europe — His Homeric Translations, 
with Specimens — Speech at Williams College — Mexico — 
Orations — Eightieth Birth-day — Vase Presentation — 
Bryant's Reply, ... 186 

CHAPTER XII. 

1876 : Library of Poetry and Song — Selection of Poems from 
the Illustrated Edition of 1876— 'The Antiquity of Free- 
dom'— 'The Burial of Love'— 'The May Sun'— 'The 
Planting of the Apple Tree ' — ' The Wind and Stream ' — 
'Robert of Lincoln '—' The Death of Slavery '—' The 
Flood of Years ' — Characteristics of Bryant's Poetry — 
His Christian Hymns — Exquisite Art — Reputation Safe 
— His Reading of Nature, ... ... ... ... ... 200 

CHAPTER XIIL 

1876-1878 : Youth in Old Age— Careful Habits— Wide Sym- 
pathies — Independent Spirit — The Fine Arts — Letter to 
Williams College — Firm Faith — Ode to Washington — 
Science and Religion — Edits Shakspere, ... 228 

CHAPTER XIV. 

1878 : Speech in Central Park at Inauguration of Mazzini's 
Bust — Sad Accident to Bryant — His Illness — Death — 
Funeral — Critical Estimates of Bryant, ... 244 



SELECTIONS FROM BRYANT'S POEMS. 



Those distincjuished by an asterisk O are quoted in full. 



Page 
A Lifetime, 21 

Scenery of his Hampshire Home, 26 

*TheEivulet, 27 

Hymn to Death, SO 

Lines from an Early School Exercise, .... 32 

1 he Embargo, or Sketches of the Times, By a Youth of Thirteen, 33 

*The Genius of Columbia, 37 

''Stanzas — originally prefixed to Thanatopsis, - - - 49 

*Thanatopsis, 52 

■^^Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood, ... - 55 

Lines on Kevisiting the Country, 57 

*Green Eiver, 58 

*To a Waterfowl, 62 

*Song — Soon as the Glazed and Gleaming Snow, - . 64 

Oh Fairest of the Eural Maids, 65 

The Ages, ......... 68 

*The YeUow Violet, 72 

A Walk at Sunset, 74 

The West Wind, 75 

*The Massacre at Scio, 76 

Song of the Greek Amazon, - - - - - - 76 

Indian Poems, .-.-.-.--77 
*Monument Mountain, -.....-78 

After a Tempest, ....-..-82 

*A Forest Hymn, 83 

The Old Man's Funeral, - - - - - - - 87 

The Murdered Traveller, 88 



VIU SELECTIONS. 

Page 

*March, 89 

Autumn Woods, 90 

The Lapse of ^''ime, - - . ' 91 

*June, - - - - - - - - - -96 

*The Death of the Flowers, 99 

Lines on Leggett's Death, ....-- HO 

Truth Crushed to Earth shall Else Again, - - - - 117 

Our Country's Call, 119 

*The Poet, 139 

A Winter Piece, - - - 142 

*Suminer Wind, 143 

*Song (When to Woo), - - 145 

*The African Chief, 146 

*The Gladness of Nature, - - - - - - - 148 

Summer Ramble, - - - ... - - 149 

The Past, 149 

*The Evening Wind, 150 

*Innocent Child and Snow-white Flower, .... 151 

*To the Fringed Gentian, 152 

Translation. *The Life of the Blessed, - . - - 153 

Do. *Love in the Age of Chivalry, . . - 154 

Do. *The Love of God, 155 

*The Future Life, - - 160 

*To Cole the Painter, departing for Europe, - - - 167 

*The Life that Is, 173 

*The Third of November, 1861, 176 

*The Death of Lincoln, 183 

October, 184 

A Lifetime, - - - 185 

Specimen of his Translation from Book VIII. of the Iliad, 188 

Do. do. from Book V. of the Odyssey, 189 

* Centennial Hymn, - - ^ .... . 201 

*The Antiquity of Freedom, . - - - - - 203 

*A Hymn of the Sea, 205 

The Land of Dreams, - . . - - - - 206 

*The Burial of Love, 207 

*The May Sun sheds an Amber Light, .... 209 

*The Planting of the Apple-tree, . - - - - 209 



SELECTIONS. IX 

Page 

*The Wind and Stream, 212 

*E,obert of Lincoln, 213 

Sella, 216 

The Little People of the Snow, 216 

*The Death of Slavery, 218 

The Flood of Years, - - - - - - - - 221 

Blessed are They that Mourn, 225 

*The Supremacy of Christ— North, with all thy Vales of Green, 226 

Whate'er He bids, Observe and Do, - - - - - 227 
*Ode for Washington's Birth-day, February 22, 1878, ■ - 240 



WILLIAM C. BEYANT: 
HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS, 



CHAPTER I 



Intkoductoky. 



Hopkins on Bryant — Bryant the Foremost American Citizen — His Long, 
Career in Literature and Politics— Stedman's Estimate of Bryant— Scribner 
—Curtis— Bryant honoured not only for his Works, but for his noble 
Christian Life. 

"William Cullen Bryant," said the Rev. Dr. Mark 
Hopkins, the venerable ex-president of Williams College, 
Massachusetts, " had the wisdom of age in his youth, and 
the fire of youth in his age." 

During a long career, as poet and journalist, although 
he refused official appointments, Bryant achieved the 
position of being accounted " the most accomplished, the 
most distinguished, and the most universally honoured 
citizen of the United States," and that, solely by his 
genius, moral rectitude, and force of character. 

Born during the presidency of Washington, and dying 
under that of Hayes — a period extending from 1794 to 
1878 — and in his eighty-fourth year, he was all but 
identified with the national life of America ; while, per- 
sonally, he had a large share, both in originating and 
elevating its literature, and in shaping the course of its 
politics. 

Having been actively connected with the press for 



10 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. ERYANT. 

more than half a century, he was a recognized power for 
good. Avoiding the coarseness of controversy, he advo- 
cated free -trade, and was strongly opposed to slavery. 
Standing in the front rank of literature, and a liberal 
patron of art, his high personal character as a Christian 
man, together with his social position, made him a promi- 
nent figure on all public occasions, when the illustrious, 
in genius or rank, were to be honoured. An admirable 
speaker, his commemorative orations are models of fine, 
generous, appreciative criticism, elegantly expressed in 
pure and terse idiomatic Saxon. 
In New York, especially, that 

"good gray head which all men knev*^" 

will be sadly missed, for many a day, by those who knew 
him, either as poet, scholar, politician, traveller, philan- 
thropist, or friend. In the journals of the day he had fol- 
lowed the various campaigns of the first Napoleon down to 
the battle of Waterloo; the whole careers of Louis Philippe 
and Louis Napoleon; and in his own country commented 
on the policies of twelve different presidents, and watched 
the rise and termination of the great conflict between 
the North and the South which resulted in the abolition 
of slavery. 

The well-known early poem " Thanatopsis," which 
established Bryant's reputation, was written before Walter 
Scott began his series of the " Waverley" novels. He was 
in his prime when Dickens and Thackeray first began to 
write, and, in the full exercise of his intellectual powers, 
after they had passed away. Longfellow and Emerson — 
both old men — gratefully recognized him as a master; 
and one of them lately publicly acknowledged him as his 
earliest teacher in the art of verse. " He was my master 
in verse," said Longfellow, "ten years and more my senior, 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 11 

and throughout my whole life I have had the warmest 
reverential regard for him. His first little, thin volume 
of poems, of thirty pages or so, containing his 'Thana- 
topsis ' and other youthful performances, lies on my study 
table to-day." "It is certain," said Emerson, "that Mr. 
Bryant has written some of the very best poetry that we 
have had in America." He loved to see him walk the streets, 
so erect for his years; and, admiring his scholarship and 
independent spirit in literature and politics, he particu- 
larly emphasized his admiration for "so manly a man!" 
The extent of the period during which he flourished was 
so great, that, beginning to write in the early springtime 
of Wordsworth, he long outlived new men, such as Edgar 
Allan Poe. It is certain, that no ordinary man could 
have gained and retained to the last, as Bryant did, such 
an extraordinary hold upon human interest, affection, and 
reverential esteem; not only from the general public, but 
from the most thoughtful and refined of his contempo- 
raries. What were the qualities, it may be asked, which 
gave Bryant this special eminence ? " Not alone," answers 
Edmund Clarence Stedman, " that he was a wise, good, 
virtuous man; not that he was a patriot, in the deepest 
and broadest sense; not that he was a journalist, how- 
ever strong and notable; not that merely he was a clear 
and vigorous ■^vriter or original sayer and thinker; nor 
even because he was a serene and reverend old man, most 
sound of body and mind. True, he was all these, and in 
their combination occupied a rank excelled by none and 
attained only by the excepted few. But, beyond and 
including all these, he was a poet, . . . joining for 
us the traditional gravity, purity, and patriotic wisdom 
of the forefathers with the modernness and freshness of 
our own day. His life, public and private, was in exact 
keeping with his speech and writings. . . . Always, he 
2 



12 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

held in view liberty, law, wisdom, piety, and faith. . . . 
Grave, yet full of shrewd and kindly humour, absolute 
simplicity characterized him. . . . His intellectual 
faculties, like his physical, were balanced to the dis- 
creetv^.st level, and this without abasing his poetic fire. 
His genius was not shown by the advance of one faculty 
and the impediment of others; it was the spirit of an 
even combination, and a fine one." 

In its editorial department, "Topics of the Time," 
Scribner's Monthly Magazine says : — 

" By reason of his venerable age, his unquestioned genius, 
his pure and lofty character, his noble achievements in letters, 
his great influence as a public journalist, and his position as 
a pioneer in American literature, William Cullen Bryant had 
become, without a suspicion of the fact in his own modest 
thought, the principal citizen of the great republic. By all 
who knew him and by millions who never saw him he was 
held in the most aff'ectionate reverence. When he died, there- 
fore, and was buried from sight, he left a sense of personal loss 
in all worthy American hearts. . . . 

" Mr. Bryant's character was so broadly built, it was made 
up of such a wide range of the best material, it was so true 
and pure, and so mellowed by age and religion, that it was, 
after all, more admirable and memorable than anything he 
ever did. His poetry has already become classic in American 
literature, but his memory, as it lives in the popular heart, 
only recognizes his genius as incidental to his nature, and 
his poetical works as a single feature of his career. He was 
a great man every way — great in his gifts, great in his reli- 
gious faith, great in his works, great in his symmetry, great 
in his practical handling of the things of personal, social, and 
political life, great in his experience of life, great in his wis- 
dom, great in his goodness and sweetness, and great in his 
modesty and simplicity." 

Georo;e William Curtis, too, in his Commemorative 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIxOI C. BRYANT. 13 

Address on the life, character, and writings of William 
Cullen Bryant, delivered before the New York Historical 
Society, at the Academy of Music, on December 30th, 
1878, said: — "A patriarch of our literature, and in a per- 
manent sense the oldest of our poets, a scholar familiar 
Math many languages and literatures, finely sensitive to the 
influence of nature, and familiar with trees and birds and 
flowers, he was especially fitted, it might be thought, for 
scholarly seclusion and the delights of the strict literary 
life. But he who melodiously marked the solitary way 
of the water-fowl through the rosy depth of the glow^ing 
heaven, and on the lonely New England hills, 

*Eock -ribbed and ancient as the sun,' 

saw in the river and valley, in forest and ocean, only the 
solemn decoration of man's tomb — the serious, musing 
country boy felt also the magic of human sympathy, the 
impulse of his country, the political genius of his race, 
and the poet became distinctively an American, and a 
public political leader. In the active American life of 
this century, he bore his full part, never quailing, never 
doubting, giving and taking blows; stern often, reserved, 
unsparing, but panoplied ever in an armour which no 
fabled Homeric hero wore, beyond the art of Yulcan to 
forge, or the dark waters of the Styx to charm, the 
impenetrable armour of moral principle. Time, as it 
passed, chastened the ardour of the partisan, without 
relaxing the vital interest of the citizen in public affairs. 
His lofty personality rose above the clamour of selfish 
ambition, and, in his life, he reconciled, both in fact and 
to the popular imagination the seeming incompatibility, 
of literacy taste and accomplishment and superiority, 
with constant political activity. So rises the shining 
dome of Llont Blanc above the clustering forests and the 



14 LITE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

roaring streams, and, on its towering sides the growths 
of various climates and of different zones, in due order, 
meet and mingle." 

Thus, is Bryant deservedly honoured by those who are 
most capable of appreciating what is pure and high- 
minded in poetry and life ; for he himself was one who, 
to the last, with humble Christian faith, earnestly strove 
to act up to that injunction, so beautifully expressed, in 
the following lines from " Thanatopsis," his own youthful, 
yet mature, poem : — 

" So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan that moves 
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not like the quarry-slave, at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams." 



CHAPTEE II. 

1794-1808: Bieth, Parentage, and Early Days. 

Birthplace— Pilgrim -Father Descent— His Father a Physician— Why Named 
William Cullen— His IMother— Watts' Hymns— The Boys of My Boyhoocl 
—Discipline— Entertainments— Books— Botanical Strolls— Love of Nature 
—Poem, The Eivulet. 

William Cullen Bryant was born at Cummington, 
Hampshire county, Massachusetts, on 3d November, 
1794, in a small log-house, and not, as is generally said, 
in the old gambrel-roofed building known as the Bryant 
homestead. The adjacent small house, v/hich was con- 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 15 

structed of square logs, has long been removed, and not a 
trace of it is now to be seen. 

But tlie same broad landscape, which the boy saw, 
remains; and, although somewhat modified by cultiva- 
tion since these days, still furnishes the key to many of 
the allusions in his poems, 

"The Bryant Homestead, owned at the day of his 
death by the poet, is situated in the grand hill-country 
of Western Massachusetts. The summits of the hills are 
still covered with dark, waving forests, and gray rocks 
gleam out here and there from their shadowed sides. 
Along the slopes, well-tilled farm-lands stretch away to 
the rushing streams that have cut down deep into the 
narrow valleys between the hills. 

' Thou wilt find nothing here 
Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men, 
And made thee loathe thy life.' 

"From these hills and woods and streams, the poet 
drank in that deep, pure love of Nature that breathes 
throusfh his noblest lines." 

Through the Pilgrim Fathers, who landed from the 
Mayflower on the 22d of December, 1620, Bryant was 
descended from the English and Scotch families of Alden, 
Ames, Harris, Hayward, Howard, Keith, Mitchell, 
Packard, Snell, and Washburn. 

"Bryant," says General James Grant Wilson, the inti- 
mate friend of the poet, "also had a worthy clerical 
ancestor in the person of James Keith, the first minister 
of Bridgewater, Massachusetts, who, after having preached 
from the same pulpit fifty-six years, died in that town in 
1719. 

"Stephen Bryant, the iirst of the poet's American 
ancestors of his own name, who is known to have been 



16 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

at Plymouth, Massachusetts, as early as 1632, and who, 
some time before 1650, married Abigail Shaw, had several 
children, one of whom was also named Stephen. He was 
the father of Ichabod Bryant, who moved from Eaynham 
to West Bridgewater in 1745, bringing with him a certi- 
ficate of dismission from the church at Eaynham, and a 
recommendation to that of his new place of residence. 
Philip, the eldest of his five sons, studied medicine, and 
settled in North Bridgewater, now Brockton, where his 
house is still standing. Dr. Philip Bryant married 
Silence Howard, daughter of Dr. Abiel Howard, with 
whom he studied medicine. One of their nine children, 
a son called Peter, born in the year 1767, studied his 
father's profession, and succeeded to his practice. At 
that time there lived in the same town a revolutionary 
veteran, 'stern and severe,' named Ebenezer Snell, of 
whom a small boy of the period, still living, informs the 
writer that ' all the boys of Bridgewater were dreadfully 
afraid,' so austere and authoritative were his manners. 
The old soldier had a pretty daughter who won the 
susceptible young doctor's affections, so that when 
Squire Snell removed with his family to Cummington, 
and built what is now kno^vn as the ' Bryant Homestead,' 
Peter Bryant followed, establishing himself there as a 
physician and surgeon, and in 1792 was married to 
' sweet Sarah Snell,' as she is called in one of the youthful 
doctor's poetic effusions. Five sons and two daughters 
were the fruit of this happy marriage, their second son 
being the subject of this sketch. Of these seven children 
but two sons survive, Arthur, and John Howard Bryant, 
of Illinois, who were present at the poet's funeral." 

Their home, at Cummington, among the Hampshire 
Hills, was, "where the first pioneer had built his cabin 
scarcely thirty years before, and there, in 1794, Bryant 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 17 

T\^as born. Western Massachusetts is a high hill country, 
^Yith secluded green valleys — a farming and grazing region, 
l3ut every little stream turns a mill, and, along the water- 
courses, the air hums with the music of a various industry. 
The great hills are still largely covered with woods that 
shelter the solitary pastures and upland farms; woods 
beautiful in spring with the white laurel and azalea, ring- 
ing through the short summer with the song of the her- 
mit thrush and the full-choired music of New England 
birds, and in autumn blazing with scarlet and gold of the 
changing leaf, until the cold splendour of the snov/y 
winter closes the year." 

"Mrs. Bryant," says an editorial associate in the Evening 
Post, "who was a lineal descendant of Miles Standish's 
lieutenant, John Alden, was a woman of great force of 
character, which manifested itself in her dignified bear- 
ing, and in the unyielding quality of such convictions as 
she saw fit to express. Her loathing for a drunkard was 
equalled only by her detestation of a liar. In all her 
household management she displayed an energy which in- 
dicated, as clearly as did her physical features, the stock 
from which she had sprung. Like most women in her 
day, her school education extended no further than the 
ordinary English branches, and all the knowledge she 
possessed, beyond that point, was the result of reading, 
an occupation in which she took great pleasure." 

"Dr. Bryant," says the same authority, "is described 
as having been of medium height, broad-shouldered, and 
with a well-knit frame; he took great pride in his mus- 
cular strength. His manners were uncommonly gentle and 
reserved, and his disposition serene, yet he was very fond 
of society. His election to the Massachusetts House of 
Representatives, for several terms, and afterward to the 
State Senate, gave him a cause for visiting Boston very 



18 LIFE SKETCH OE WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

often, and associating with the cultured literary circle 
whom he met there. When not engaged in legislative 
matters, too, he would make it a point to attend the 
annual meeting of the Medical Society, which was held 
in Boston, and the letters written to his wife, during these 
intervals of recreation, breathe a spirit of the purest en- 
joyment. His fondness for humorous composition of all 
sorts, and for amusing verses in particular, was a marked 
trait, and, for the gratification of this taste, he was enabled 
to draw on the literature of two languages, having passed 
a part of his early life on the Isle of France, acting as 
surgeon of a merchant ship. In dress the doctor was 
always scrupulously neat; he followed the Boston fashions, 
moreover, with enough care, even in his village home, to 
give an observer the impression that he was a city gentle- 
man visiting the country for a holiday jaunt." 

General James Grant Wilson, in his memoir of Bryant 
prefixed to the poet's New Lihrary of Poetry and Song,, 
adds: — "Dr. Peter Bryant's bearing, I am told by an 
aged man who remembers him, was the very reverse of 
that of his gruff father-in-law. Although reserved, he was 
gentle in manner, with a low soft voice, and always attired 
with scrupulous neatness. While not above the height of 
his gifted son, he was broad-shouldered, and would some- 
times exhibit his great strength by lifting a barrel of cider 
from the ground over the wheel into a wagon. According 
to the account of another who knew him, he was 'pos- 
sessed of extensive literary and scientific acquirements, 
an unusually vigorous and well-disciplined mind, and an 
elegant and refined taste.'" 

A man of rare intelligence, taste, and sagacity — a prac- 
tising physician and surgeon, and one of the third gener- 
ation who had followed that profession — it was, for long, 
the dream of Dr. Peter Bryant's life to educate a child of 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 19 

his own for his favourite profession. So he named his 
boy William Cullen, after Dr. Cullen, an eminent phy- 
sician and medical authority, whose lectures he admired, 
and who had died in Edinburgh only four years before. 
However, neither William, who was so delicate an infant 
that there then seemed little chance of his growing up, 
nor any of his brothers had any liking for the healing art, 
and so it turned out that Dr. Peter Bryant had no lineal 
heir to his medical practice. 

"The poet's mother," we are told, "was a lady of 
personal dignity and excellent good sense." Although 
her education was limited to the branches then taught 
in common schools, she certainly possessed those qualities 
of heart that make home happy and life beautiful. When 
a little child, she taught him to repeat Watts' hymns, 
and, ever after, Bryant not only regarded them with 
affection, but in mature years often expressed admiration 
for Watts' poetic genius. In this connection the follow- 
ing article will be read with interest : — 

"I have liked Dr. Watts' psalms and hymns," said Mr. 
Bryant, "ever since the time when, scarcely three years old, I 
was made to repeat, with his book in my hand, and with such 
gestures as were prescribed to me, the psalm beginning with 
the words: — 

" ' Come, sound his praise abroad, 
And hymns of giory sing.' 

"The critics generally have shown but stinted favour to 
Dr. Watts' devotional poetry. Dr. Johnson pronounced it 
unsatisfactory, though he admits that he 'has done better than 
anybody else, what nobody has done well.' I maintain, for 
my part, that Dr. "Watts has- done admirably well what he 
undertook to do, and the proof, if I wanted any other than 
the pleasure with which I always read him, I find in the 
strong hold which his devotional verses have taken on the 
hearts of men in all conditions of life, and, I think, all 



20 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

varieties of religious belief. No compilation of hymns for the 
public worship of any denomination is ever made without bor- 
rowing largely from Dr. Watts. He has been in his grave for 
considerably more than a century, yet have his psalms and 
hymns lost none of the favour which they had when they were 
first used by religious assemblies, and, I believe, are even now 
in greater esteem than ever, notwithstanding that such poets 
as Doddridge, Cowper, Charles Wesley, and Heber have 
written devotional verses of very great merit since his time. 

" The secret of his popularity lies, as it seems to me, in the 
union of strong feeling with great poetic merit. In what he 
wrote there are occasionally transgressions against good taste, 
as in the versification of Solomon's Song. There are also some 
slovenly lines, and even stanzas; but there is always great 
fervour and profound devotion. No poet has ever expressed 
religious emotions with greater appropriateness. He faints 
and languishes for the Divine presence, he deplores the way- 
wardness of the human heart, he exults in the Divine favour, 
he is awed by the Divine ma,jesty, he looks with transport on 
the works of the Divine hand, he dwells with delight on the 
vision of a better life beyond the grave ; and all these moods 
of mind find full expression in his verse. Many of his hymns 
seem to have been dashed off in the excitement of the moment, 
as if the feeling which had taken possession of him could not 
be satisfied without expressing itself in poetic forms. His 
versions of the Hebrew psalms are as remarkable, for this, as 
the compositions which he called hymns. He seems to have 
first filled his mind with the imagery of the ancient bard, and, 
catching inspiration from him, flung his thought upon the page, 
in a form suited to the more mild and perfect dispensation of 
Christianity. Some of Dr. Watts' devotional verses show that 
he possessed imagination in a high degree. What a beautiful 
j)icture, for example, is set before us in the hymn beginning 

*' ' There is a land of pure delight ! ' 

" In this hymn we have the green fields of immortal life, 
with their unwithering flowers lying in perpetual light ; the 
narrow river of death, dividing it from the present state of 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 21 

being, and a timorous crowd of mortals on the hither bank 
shivering and shuddering at the thought of passing througli 
those cold waters. I once heard a distinguished literary gen- 
tleman instance the following couplet from one of Watts' 
hymns, as conveying to the mind images which could only 
occur to a poet of no common genius : — 

" ' Cold mountains and the midnight air 
Witnessed the fervour of his prayer.' 

"I was able to match them, or nearly so, with a stanza from 
his version of the one hundred and twenty-first Psalm : — 

" ' No sun shall smite thy head by day, 
Nor the pale moon with sickly ray 
Shall blast thy coiach ; no baleful star 
Dart his malignant fire so far.' 

"How pathetic is this expostulation, in the one hundred and 
second Psalm : — 

" ' Spare us, Lord! aloud we pray; 
Nor let our sun go down at noon ; 
Thy years are one eternal day, 

And must thy children die so soon ? ' 

" How magnificently is the one hundredth Psalm versified, 
closing with this grand stanza : — 

" 'We'll crowd thy gates with thankful songs, 
High as the heavens our voices raise ; 
And earth, with her ten thousand tongues, 
Shall fill thy courts with sounding praise ! ' " 

In his autobiographic poem, "A Lifetime," ^^vritten 
when the scenes of childhood were recollections of a 
remote past, Bryant pictures himself standing by his 
mother's knee, anrl 

" Eeading of ancient peoples 
And realms beyond the sea; 

" Of the cruel king of Egypt 

Who made God's people slaves, 



22 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

And perished witli all liis army, 
Drowned in the Eed-Sea waves ; 

" Of Deborah, who mustered 
Her brethren long oppressed, 
And routed the heathen army. 
And gave her people rest ; 

*' And the sadder, gentler story, — 
How Christ, the crucified. 
With a prayer for those who slew him, 
Forgave them as he died." 

In an article called "The Boys of my Boyhood," which 
v/as written for the Si Nicholas magazine, and published 
in December, 1876, Bryant has happily told us the story 
of his boyish days, better than any one else could possibly 
have done. 

Of the domestic discipline of these days, and of the 
awe in which he stood of his grandfather, under whose 
roof he and his parents resided, he says : — 

"The boys of the generation to which I belonged — that is to 
say, who were born in the last years of the last century or the 
earliest of this — were brought up under a system of discipline 
which put a far greater distance between parents and their 
children than now exists. The parents seemed to think this 
necessary, in order to secure obedience. They were believers 
in the old maxim that familiarity breeds contempt. My own 
parents lived in the house with my grandfather and grand- 
mother on the mother's side. My grandfather w^as a discip- 
linarian of the stricter sort, and I can hardly find words to 
express the awe in which I stood of him — an awe so great as 
almost to prevent anything like affection on my part, although 
he was in the main kind, and, certainly, never thought of being 
severe, beyond what was necessary to maintain a proper degree 
of order in the family. 

"The other boys in that part of the country, my school- 
mates and play-fellows, were educated on the same system. 



LIFE SKETCH OP WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 23 

Yet tlicre were at tliaf time some indications that this very- 
severe discipline was beginning to relax. With my father and 
mother I was on much easier terms than with my grandfather. 
If a favour was to be asked of my grandfather it was asked 
with fear and trembling; the request was postponed to the 
last moment, and then made with hesitation and blushes and 
a confused utterance. 

"One of the means of keeping the boys of that generation 
in order was a little bundle of birchen rods, bound together 
by a small cord, and generally suspended on a nail against the 
wall in the kitchen. This was esteemed as much a part of the 
necessary furniture as the crane that hung in the kitchen fire- 
place, or the shovel and tongs. It sometimes happened, that 
the boy suffered a fate similar to that of the eagle in the fable, 
wounded by an arrow fledged with a feather from his own 
wing; in other words, the boy was made to gather the twigs 
intended for his own castigation." 

He also tells us, of the respect then paid by the young 
to their seniors, especially to ministers of the gospel. Of 
the visits they paid to the district schools, on which 
occasions the scholars were dressed in their Sunday 
clothes; of the examinations through which children 
were put on the questions in the Shorter Catechism of 
the Westminster Assembly of Divines; and then of the 
usual winding-up stereotyped address; all of which 
reads like an account of the good old customs prevailing 
in Scotland in the days of Dr. Chalmers and Dr. 
Guthrie's boyhood. 

The influence of the clergy also, in some degree, ex- 
tended to the populace. Although there were then no 
temperance societies in existence, excess was regarded as 
a reproach; and the man who was overtaken by drunken- 
ness, if the m^'nister should appear, says Bryant, *'was 
generally glad to slink out of sight." 

Of the gatherings and amusements of his young days, 



24 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

many of which are still to be met Atith in New England, 
he describes the entertainments, called "raisings," on the 
erection of the timber frames of houses or barns; the 
making of "maple sugar;" the social meetings called 
" huskings," when the neighbours met to strip the ears of 
maize from their husk; the cheerful "apple-parings," which 
on autumn evenings brought together the young of both 
sexes to prepare the usual annual supply of apple sauce 
from the fruit of the orchards; the "cider-making" season, 
which corresponded somewhat with the vintage time in 
the wine countries of Europe; "angling," which Bryant 
in boyish days enjoyed, but says that he had long been 
weaned from the propensity, now no longer calling it 
"sport," but regarding it as "a remnant of the original 
wild nature of man." 

There were, then, no public lectures on subjects of 
general interest, but Bryant gives us some curious infor- 
mation regarding church-going — then, generally, three, 
times a day — and about the extinct office of the tything- 
men — whose duty it was to look after the good behaviour 
of the young folks in church, and to wake up anybody 
who chanced to fall asleep. 

Of the books to which he had access, eighty years 
ago, he tells us, some were excellent, and some mere 
trash or worse; amongst the good he names Sandford and 
Merton, BoUnson Crusoe, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, Mrs. 
Barbauld, Miss Edgeworth's Evenings at Home, Watts, and 
Cowper's Poems. 

After thus fondly recalling and commenting on the 
days of his boyhood, the veteran who had been trained 
under such influences, finding so many things changed, 
and taking commendable pride in positions achieved by 
his former playmates, — whether as professors, founders of 
useful societies, missionaries, or millionaires, — in the spirit 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 25 

of wholesome conservatism, thus conchicles his interesting 
paper : — 

" Whatever may have been the merits or the shortcomings 
of the generation to which these men belonged, they are now 
with the past, and it is yet to be seen whether the different 
system now adopted in training the youth of our country will 
give it a better class of citizens." 

William Cullen Bryant from an early period displayed 
a taste for reading and study. He himself has told us 
the books he then delighted to pore 'over. His father, a 
man of refined taste, who devoted much attention to the 
mental culture of his family, soon directed him to the 
books which he himself liked to read — Pope, and Gray, 
and Goldsmith — and his son began to echo their music. 

The free and happy surroundings of a rough country 
farm gave him physical and mental strength; while the 
varied and picturesque scenery of Hampshire, with its 
hills and dales, woods and streams, familiarized him from 
childhood with nature, and taught him to love her under 
all her varied aspects. 

In his strolls as well as in his studies he profited greatly 
from the companionship of his father. 

"Dr. Bryant's scientific attainments," we are told, "were 
not limited to an acquaintance with the phials and retorts of 
his laboratory. In the open fields he was equally at home; 
and his son, in twilight strolls along the country roads, and 
talks at noonday under the big trees near the homestead, drew 
from him those first lessons in botany which were so expanded 
by later research as to embrace the whole field of organic but 
inanimate nature." 

The stern and rigid qualities of his grandfather, old 
El^enezer Snell, as described in the paragraph quoted 
from the St. Nicholas magazine, would doubtless tend to 



26 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

enhance the boy's love of out-door life, and make him 
value the unrestricted air of freedom which he could 
enjoy in his intercourse with nature. 

That the mountains, woods, rivers, birds, and flowers 
were dear to him, and, from early days downwards, 
served as types wherewith to print thoughts, is very evi- 
dent from his constant references to the distinctive 
scenery of his beautiful Hampshire home, as in the fol- 
lowing stanzas : — 

"And deep were my musings in life's early blossom, 
'Mid the twilight of mountain-groves wandering long : 

How thrilled my young veins, and how throbbed my fuU 
bosom. 
When o'er me descended the spirit of song]! 

" 'Mong the deep- cloven fells that for ages had listened, 
To the rush of the pebble-paved river between. 

Where the kingfisher screamed, and gray precipice glistened, 
All breathless with awe have I gazed on the scene, 

" Till I felt the dark power o'er my reveries stealing 
From the gloom of the thicket that over me hung, 

And the thoughts that awoke in that rapture of feeling 
Were formed into verse as they rose to my tongue." 

Eichard Henry Stoddard has said of Bryant: — 

"The spirit of personal recollection which animated the 
fluent numbers of ' Green Eiver ' sparkles with youthful light 
in ' The Eivulet,' which reflects the early life of the poet at 
Cummington. The waters of Helicon never bubbled more 
musically than the waters of this nameless little rill." 

We .append this exquisite poem, which, although pro- 
duced at a later time, refers to the period of which we 
have been speaking : — 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. ERYANT. 27 



THE RIVULET. 

This little rill, that from the springs 
Of yonder grove its current brings, 
Plays on the slope awhile, and then 
Goes prattling into groves again, 
Oft to its warbling waters drew 
My little feet, when life was new. 
When woods in early green were dressed, 
And from the chambers of the west 
The warmer breezes, travelling out. 
Breathed the new scent of flowers about. 
My truant steps from home would stray. 
Upon its grassy side to play, 
List the brown thrasher's vernal hymn, 
And crop the Aaolet on its brim, 
With blooming cheek and open brow. 
As young and gay, sweet rill, as thou. 

And when the days of boyhood came, 
And I had grown in love with fame, 
Duly I sought thy banks, and tried 
My first rude numbers by thy side. 
Words cannot tell how bright and gay 
The scenes of life before me lay. 
Then glorious hopes, that now to speak 
Would bring the blood into my cheek, 
Passed o'er me ; and I wrote, on high, 
A name I deemed should never die. 

Years change thee not. Upon yon hill 
The tall old maples, verdant still, 
Yet tell, in grandeur of decay. 
How swift the years have passed away, 
Since first, a child, and half afraid, 
I wandered in the forest shade. 
Thou, ever-joyous rivulet. 
Dost dimple, leap, and prattle yet ; 
And sporting with the sands that pave 
3 



28 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

The windings of tliy silver wave, 
And dancing to thy own wild chime, 
Thou laughest at the lapse of time. 
The same sweet sounds are in my ear 
My early childhood loved to hear ; 
As pure thy limpid waters run ; 
As bright they sparkle to the sun ; 
As fresh and thick the bending ranks 
Of herbs that line thy oozy banks; 
The violet there, in soft May dew, 
Comes up, as modest and as blue ; 
As green amid thy current's stress, 
Floats the scarce-rooted watercress : 
And the brown ground-bird, in thy glen, 
Still chirps as merrily as then. 

Thou changest not — but I am changed 
Since first thy pleasant banks I ranged ; " 

And the grave stranger, come to see 
The play-place of his infancy. 
Has scarce a single trace of him 
Who sported once upon thy brim. 
The visions of my youth are past — 
Too bright, too beautiful to last. 
I've tried the world — it wears no more 
The colouring of romance it wore. 
Yet well has nature kept the truth 
She promised in my earliest youth. 
The radiant beauty shed abroad 
On all the glorious works of God, 
Shows freshly, to my sobered eye, 
Each charm it wore in days gone by. 

Yet a few years shall pass away, 
And I, all trembling, weak, and gray, 
Bowed to the earth, which waits to fold 
My ashes in the embracing mould, 
(If haply the dark will of Fate 
Indulge my life so long a date), 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 29 

May come for the last time to look 
Upon my childhood's favourite brook. 
Then dimly on my eye shall gleam 
The sparkle of thy dancing stream ; 
And faintly on my ear shall fall 
Thy prattling current's merry call ; 
Yet shalt thou flow as glad and bright 
As when thou met'st my infant sight. 

And I shall sleep — and on thy side, 
As ages after ages glide, 
Children their early sports shall try, 
And pass to hoary age and die. 
But thou, unchanged from year to year. 
Gaily shalt play and glitter here ; 
Amid young flowers and tender grass 
Thy endless infancy shall pass ; 
And, singing down thy narrow glen, 
Shalt mock the fading race of men. 



CHAPTER III. 

1806-1811 : The Boy-Poet and Student Days. 

His Father's Judicious Aid in his Poetical Studies— Bryant Precocious— Early 
Verses— The Embargo— It Reaches a Second Edition— The Genius of 
Columbia— Latin and Greek— General Information— Williams College- 
Student Life — His Name honoured at Williams — The College and Mission 
Park at Williamstown— Scenery of the Hoosac Valley. 

Dr. Peter Bryant devoted mucli attention to the mental 
culture of his family; and, fortunately, soon recognizing 
the peculiar gift of his son William, he judiciously and 
sympathetically aided in its development. An able and 
skilful instructor, he kindly chastened and improved, 
while encouraging, the first rude efforts of his boyish 
c;enius. 



30 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

A personal friend of the poet thus wrote of him, in 
1840:— "His father, his guide in the first attempts at 
versification, taught him the value of correctness and 
compression, and enabled him to distinguish between 
true poetic enthusiasm and fustian." 

To this teaching and training by his father, Bryant, 
afterwards, thus alluded in a poem entitled, " Hymn to 
Death," published in 1825, and which is often quoted for 
its pathos and beauty : — ■ 

"Alas ! I little thought that the stern power, 
Whose fearful praise I sang, w^ould try me thus 
Before the strain w^as ended. It must cease — 
For he is in his grave who taught my youth 
The art of verse, and in the bud of life 
Offered me to the Muses. Oh, cut off 
Untimely ! when thy reason in its strength, 
Eipened by years of toil and studious search, 
And watch of nature's silent lessons, taught 
Thy hand to practise best the lenient art 
To which thou gavest thy laborious days, 
And, last, thy life. ... 

" Now thou art not— and yet the men whose guilt 
Has wearied Heaven for vengeance — he who bears 
False witness — he who takes the orjDhan's bread. 
And robs the widow — he who spreads abroad 
Polluted hands in mockery of prayer. 
Are left to cumber earth." 

General James Grant Wilson tells us: — "The poet's 
great-grandfather. Dr. Abiel Howard, a graduate of Har- 
vard College of tho class of 1729, had an extensive library, 
for those times, and in his youth ■^vrote verses. Some of 
these were in Mr. Bryant's possession, and, to quote his 
own words, ' show no small power of poetic expression.' 
The inclination to express themselves in poetic form 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C, BRYANT. 31 

reappeared in Dr. Howard's grandchildren. Dr. Br^^ant 
wrote many songs and love stanzas in his younger days, 
and some satirical political poems in raiddle age. His 
sister Euth Bryant, who died young, left behind several 
meritorious poems which her nephew had read in manu- 
script. When Mr. Bryant was studying law, the late 
Judge Daniel Howard asked him from whom he inherited 
his poetic gift; he promptly replied, from his great- 
grandfather, Dr. Howard. One of the poet's surviving 
brothers recently said to the Avriter, 'We are all addicted, 
more or less, to the unprofitable business of rhyming.' " 

Bryant w^as precocious; and, although his very earliest 
boyish efforts in verse were, to some extent, echoes of 
book-lore, or of his father's opinions, while his own direct, 
intimate, and characteristic converse with nature was 
not, as yet, developed, as it shortly afterwards was in 
his " Thanatopsis," yet there is this remarkable difference 
between his early efforts, and those of other poets, such as 
Tasso, Cowley, Pope, Chatterton, or Byron, who indited 
youthful verses, that Bryant's lines have nothing forced, 
morbid, or immature about them; and he wrote as if he had 
already actually attained to experience; while, dating from 
"Thanatopsis" — natural, flowing, and felicitous in thought 
and expression, and perhaps the most wonderful poem 
ever -sviitten by a youth — his poetical powers, thus early 
developed, remained unimpaired to an age beyond that 
usually allotted to man. " Thanatopsis " was written in 
his eighteenth year; and the noble "Ode" written for 
Washington's birth-day, February 22d, 1878, in his 
eighty -fourth. Hence, John Bigelow, in his address 
before the Century Club when holding a Memorial Ser- 
vice, in November, 1878, the year of Bryant's death, 
justly said : — "No one will deny that in one respect, at 
Ipast, Bryant's fame was entirely unique. He was the 



32 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

author of the finest verses ever produced by any one so 
young, and so old, as the author of ' Thanatopsis,' and of 
'The Twenty-second of February.'" 

He wrote verses when he was nine years of age; and 
his first contribution to the press was, to quote his own 
words, *' a school exercise in verse which was published 
in the Hampshire Gazette, printed at Northampton, Mass." 
This was in his tenth year. His Latin translations, which 
are usually said to have been his first appearance in print, 
were not executed for some time after, the interval being 
at least a year. Modestly, the boy continued for years 
studying and writing; and, to test his progress, occa- 
sionally sent his compositions to editors, either anony- 
mously or under signatures not likely to identify him. 

The following lines are taken from one of his early 
school exercises: — 

" Thanks to the preacher whose discernment true. 
Upholds religion to the mental view ; 
Unfolds to us instruction's ample page, 
Eich with the fruits of every distant age ; 
Pours simj)le truths, by love divine refin'd, 
With force resistless on the youthful mind. 
Thanks to the gentlemen assembled here. 
To see what progress we have made this year, 
In learning's paths, our footsteps to survey, 
Ajid trace our passage up the sloping way. 
And thanks to Heaven, the first and best of all. 
The auditor of ev'ry humble call — 
That (tho' a few have fall'n behind the rest,) 
So much improvement has our studies blest. 
And since I am to serious thoughts inclined, 
Now to the scholars I'll address my mind ; 
A word or two, in which myself may bear 
If not a greater, yet an equal share. 
My comrades ! tho' we're not a num'rous train. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 33 

^Tis doubtful whether we shall meet again ; 

For death's cold hand may aim th' unerring blow, 

And lay, with heavy stroke, the victim low ; 

From this frail state, th' unbody'd soul will fly, 

And sink to hell, or soar above the sky. 

Then let us tread, as lowly Jesus trod, 

The path that leads the sinner to his God ; 

Keep Heaven's bright mansions ever in our eyes, 

Press tow'rds the mark and seize the glorious prize." 

Having imbibed his father's Federal views of politics, 
when the people of New England feared the destruction 
of their commerce from the recommendation of President 
Jefferson that an embargo should be laid upon all vessels 
oAvned by citizens of the United States, the boy Bryant, 
though only in his thirteenth year, caught the very spirit 
of the hour, and wrote a poem which was printed in 
a thin pamphlet of twelve pages, with the following 
title: — '•^The Emhargo; or, Sketches of the Times. A 
Satire. By a Youth of Thirteen. Boston: Printed for 
the Purchasers. 1808." Although all the local and 
transient circumstances, which then gave it point, are 
Avanting, many portions of it read as if Avritten of the 
events of yesterday, for human nature is the same, and 
history repeats itself. It shows how skilfully the boy- 
poet had mastered the art of versification; and also indi- 
cates the strong and early bias of his mind towards 
politics, to which, as a newspaper editor, he afterwards 
conscientiously devoted the greater portion of his life. 

The poem, which is in rhymed pentameters, opens 
thus : — 

" Look where we will, and in whatever land, 
Europe's rich soil, or Afric's barren sand, 
Where the wild savage hunts his wilder prey, 
Or art and science pour their brightest day, 



34 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

The monster, Vice, appears before our eyes, 
In naked impudence, or gay disguise. 

" But quit the meaner game, indignant Muse, 
And to thy country turn thy nobler views ; 
Ill-fated clime ! condemned to feel th' extremes 
O' a weak ruler's philosophic dreams ; 
Driven headlong on to ruin's fateful brink. 
When will thy country feel — when will she think ! 

" Satiric Muse, shall injured Commerce weep 
Her ravish'd rites, and will thy thunders sleep ; 
Dart thy keen glances, knit thy threat'ning brows, 
Call fire from heaven to blast thy country's foes. 
Oh! let a youth thine inspiration learn — 
Oh! give him 'words that breathe and thoughts that 
burn!' - ., 

" Curse of our nation, source of countless woes. 
From whose dark womb unreckon'd misery flows : 
Th' Embargo rages, like a sweeping wind, 
Fear lowers before, and famine stalks behind." 

After tracing the evils which Jefferson's policy would 
bring directly upon 

" Commerce, that bears the trident of the main, 
And Agriculture, empress of the plain," 

the "Youth of Thirteen" proceeds to show what a great 
danger threatens the republic as an indirect result: — 

" How foul a blot Columbia's glory stains ! 
How dark the scene! — infatuation reigns! 
For French intrigue, which wheedles to devour, 
Threatens to fix us in Napoleon's power; 
Anon within th' insatiate vortex whirl'd, 
Whose wide periphery involves the world. 

^' Oh, Heaven defend ! as future seasons roll. 
These western climes from Bonaparte's control ; 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 35 

Preserve oiu' freedom, and our rights secure, 
Wliile truth subsists and virtue shall endure! 

" Columbians, wake! Evade the deep-laid snare! 
Insensate ! Shall we ruin court, and fall 
Slaves to the proud autocrator of Gaul? 
Our law^s laid prostrate by his ruthless hand, 
And independence banished from our land!" 

Further on he f.ddresses Jefferson as follows : — 

"And thou, the scorn of every patriot name, 
Thy country's ruin and her council's shame! 
Poor servile thing ! derision of the brave ! 
Who erst from Tarleton fled to Carter's cave ; 
Thou, who, when menac'd by perfidious Gaul, 
Didst prostrate to her whisker'd minion fall ; 
And when our cash her empty bags supply'd, 
Didst meanly strive the foul disgrace to hide; 
Go, wretch, resign the presidential chair, 
Disclose thy secret measures, foul or fair. 
Go, search with curious eye for horned frog.i, 
Mid the wild wastes of Louisianian bogs; 
Or, where Ohio rolls his turbid stream. 
Dig for huge bones, thy glory and thy theme 
Go, scan, Philosophist, thy . . . charms. 
And sink supinely in her sable arms; 
But quit to abler hands the helm of state, 
Nor image ruin on thy country's fate." 

However, the embargo was removed in 1809; the 
excitement abated, the country was not ruined, and 
President Jefferson did not resign. We give one more 
spirited extract, which shows that, in certain phases of 
political life, times are not yet much changed for the 
better : — 

" E'en while I sing, see Faction urge her claim, 
Mislead with falsehood, and with zeal inflame; 



36 LIFE SKETCH OP WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Lift lier black banner, spread her empire wide, 
And stalk triumphant with a fury's stride. 
She blows her brazen trump, and at the sound 
A motley throng, obedient, flock around ; 
A mist of changing hue o'er all she flings, 
And darkness perches on her dragon wings ! 

"As Johnson deep, as Addison refin'd. 
And skill'd to pour conviction o'er the mind. 
Oh, might some patriot rise ! the gloom dispel, 
Chase Error's mist, and break her magic spell ! 

" But vain the wish, for hark ! the murmuring meed 
Of hoarse applause from yonder shed proceed ; 
Enter, and view the thronging concourse there, 
Intent, with gaping mouth and stupid stare ; 
While, in the midst, their supple leader stands, 
Harangues aloud, and flourishes his hands; 
To adulation tunes his servile throat, 
And sues, successful, for each blockhead's vote." 

This poem attracted general notice, and was com- 
mended for its literary vigour, even by opponents who 
held democratic views. In a few months a second edition 
was called for, which was published in Boston and con- 
tained some additional juvenile poems, such as "The 
Eeward of Literary Merit," "Drought," and several 
poetical "Enigmas," written in 1807; "The Spanish 
Eevolution," "The Contented Ploughman," and an "Ode 
on the Connecticut Eiver," written in 1808, and a 
"Translation from Horace" (lib. i. car. xxii.) without 
date. To the volume was prefixed a curious advertisement, 
dated February, 1809, saying — that some doubts having 
been expressed as to the authorship, the printer, if 
required, would give the names of friends who could 
vouch that the poem was written by a youth of thirteen. 

In the following year, the aspect of public affairs having 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. '67 

become more tranquil, young Bryant contributed the fol- 
lowing poem to the HamjJshire Gazette: — 

THE GENIUS OF COLUMBIA. 

Far in the regions of the west, 

On throne of adamant upraised, 
Bright on whose polished sides impressed, 

The sun's meridian splendours blazed, 

Columbia's Genius sat and eyed 

The eastern despot's dire career ; 
And thus with independent pride, 

She spoke and bade the nations hear. 

" Go, favoured son of glory, go ! 

Thy dark, aspiring aims pursue ! 
The blast of domination blow. 

Earth's wide extended regions through ! 

" Though Austria, twice subjected, own 
The thunders of thy conquering hand, 
And tyranny erect her throne 
In hapless Sweden's fallen land ! 

" Yet know, a nation lives, whose soul 
Regards thee with disdainful eye ; 
Undaunted scorns thy proud control, 
And dares thy swarming hordes defy; 

" Unshaken as their native rocks 
Its hardy sons heroic rise ; 
Prepared to meet thy fiercest shocks. 
Protected by the favouring skies. 

" Their fertile plains and woody hills 
Are fanned by freedom's purest gales! 
And her celestial presence fills 

The deepening glens and spacious vales." 

She speaks ; through all her listening bands 
A loud applauding murmur flies ; 



38 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Fresh valour nerves their willing hands, 
And lights with joy their glowing eyes! 

Then should Napoleon's haughty joride 
Wake on our shores the fierce affray; 

Grim terror lowering at his side. 
Attendant on his furious way ! 

With quick repulse, his baffled band 
Would seek the friendly shore in vain, 

Bright justice lift her red right hand, 
And crush them on the fatal plain. 

W. C. B. 

Cammington, January 8, 1810. 

When about fourteen years of age, he had begun the 
study of Latin with his uncle, the Kev. Dr. Thomas 
Snell, who was for sixty-four years pastor of the North 
Parish of Brookfield. Bryant resided for a year with 
him while studying. After that, at fifteen, he com- 
menced Greek with the Rev. Moses Hallock, of Plane- 
field, Massachusetts, who prepared him for college. At 
the end of two months young Bryant had read through 
the New Testament. 

For his board in these days he only paid one dollar per 
week, Mr. Hallock insisting that it was all it cost. This 
same gentleman also trained Professor Wm. D. Whitney, 
of Yale College, the distinguished Sanscrit scholar; the late 
Rev. Dr. Woods, of Andover, and others who afterwards 
rose to eminence. On his grandson, Wm. H. Hallock, 
of The Christian at TFork, devolved the enjoined duty of 
burning Ms grandfather's MS. sermons, which filled three 
barrels; and also of destroying the debris of Dr. Peter 
Bryant's drugs, which he accomplished in the garden 
behind the parsonage. 

In a letter to the Rev. H. Seymour, of Northampton, 
Mass., Bryant thus speaks of his early Greek studies: — "I 



LlYK SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 39 

began with the Greek alphabet, passed to the declensions 
and conjugations, which I committed to memoiy, and was 
put into the Gospel of St. John. In two calendar months 
from the time of beginning with the powers of the Greek 
alphabet I had read every book in the New Testament. 
I supposed, at the time, that I had made pretty good pro- 
gress, but do not even now knov/ whether that was very 
extraordinary." 

" One of his surviving brothers," says General James 
Grant Wilson, "remembers that when the young poet 
came home on visits from his uncle Snell's, or 'Parson 
Hallock's,' he was in the habit of playing at games with 
them, and of amusing them in various ways; that he 
excelled as a runner, and later on had many successful 
contests Vvdth his college class-mates; also that he was 
accustomed on his home visits to declaim, for the 
entertainment of the family circle, some of his own 
compositions, both in prose and verse. He was, when 
studying with the pastor, a small, delicate, and handsome 
youth, very shy and reserved, and a great reader, de- 
vouring every volume that he could meet with, and 
resembling the hero of Waverley in * driving through 
a sea of books like a vessel without pilot or rudder.' He 
was, I am also told by one who studied with him at that 
time, — now nearly seventy years ago, — a natural scholar 
like his father, and, although but fifteen, he had already 
accumulated a vast stock of information." 

In October, 1810, in his sixteenth year, he joined the 
Sophomore Class at Williams College, and remained 
there for two sessions, diligently availing himself of the 
facilities for learning afforded by that excellent, noble, and 
pre-eminently Christian institution, so beautifully situated 
among the Berkshire hills. 

Dr. Peter Bryant's pecuniary affairs were, at this time, 



40 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

in a state which rendered retrenchment necessary, and 
so, in May, 1811, Bryant, in accordance with his father's 
instructions, took an honourable dismission, having only 
attended the classes for two terms, or seven months in 
all. The shy, sensitive, retiring student disliked and 
shrunk from the publicity of class duties, and was, there- 
fore, nothing loath to return home to escape from an 
enforced routine, and to be left for a time to pursue in 
peace the arduous courses of solitary study which he had 
chalked out for himself. He has, however, left it on 
record, that President Fitch, of Williams College, was 
always kind to him. 

It was the father's intention and hope that his son's 
college studies should, at a more convenient season, be 
resumed, if not at Williams, at Yale; but, as it turned 
out, his boy's class-days then ended. 

Of the young student, many interesting particulars 
have been recorded. 

The late Eeverend Dr. Calvin Durfee, the historian of 
Williams College, stated that "Bryant did not graduate 
in a regular course with his class; still, long ago, by 
vote of the trustees of the college he was restored to his 
place in the class, and has been enrolled among the 
alumni." He adds that "Bryant was always scholarly 
and gentlemanly, with no eccentricities, no shooting 
forth of intellectual powers in one direction, to the ne- 
glect of other important qualifications or attainments." 

The Eev. E. D. Barrett, one of his class-fellows, says 
that the circle of students all seemed to enjoy the arrival 
of the young stranger and poet, news of his precocious 
intellect having preceded him. 

And Judge Sedgwick, then near the close of his eighty- 
third year, dating from Sharon, on July 3rd, writes thus 
of his old class-fellow: — 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 41 

" His room-mate was John Avery, of Conway, Mass., who 
was some eight years his senior in age. Bryant had not then 
attained to the physical dimensions which he afterwards 
reached, but his bodily structure w^as remarkably regular and 
systematic. He had a prolific growth of dark brown hair, and 
I do not remember ever to have known a person in whom the 
progress of years made so great a difference in personal 
appearance as it did in the case of Mr. Bryant. I met him 
twice, near the close of his life, at Williams College Commence- 
ments, and, if I had not seen pictures of him as he appeared 
iu old age, I would hardly have been persuaded of his identity 
with tlie Bryant I knew in early life. 

" When he entered college it was known that he was the 
reputed author of two or three short poems which had re- 
cently been published, and which indicated decidedly promising 
talent on the part of their author. When spoken to in relation 
to these poetical effusions, he was reticent and modest, and, in 
fact, his modesty in everything was a peculiar trait of his 
character. It was very difficult to obtain from him any 
specimens of his talent as a poet. One exercise demanded of 
the students was the occasional writing of a composition to be 
read to the tutor in presence of the class, and once Bryant, in 
fulfilling this requirement, read a short poem which received 
the decided approval of the tutor, and once he translated one 
of the Odes of Horace, which he showed to a few personal 
friends. Those were the only examples of his poetry that I 
now remember of his furnishing during his college life. It 
may be stated here that the tutor who instructed Mr. Bryant 
in college was the Rev. Orange Lyman, who was afterwards the 
Presbyterian clergyman at Vernon, Oneida County, N.Y. . . . 

" Bryant, during all his college experience, was remarkably 
quiet, pleasant, and unobtrusive in his manners, and studious 
in the literary course. His lessons were all well mastered, 
and not a single event occurred during his residence which 
received the least disapproval of the faculty." 

He was noted for his fondness of the classics, and his 
love for the best literature; nor, although outwardly shy 



42 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

and reserved, was he in the least morose, but, on the 
contrary, he had a keen appreciation of the humorous. 
On one occasion, which he himself mentions, when he 
had committed to memory a portion of Irving's Salma- 
gundi^ then just published, for repeating as a declama- 
tion before the class, he was so overcome with laughter 
when he appeared on the floor that he was unable to 
proceed ! 

His name has always been held in high honour at Wil- 
liamstown. In 1819, the college conferred upon him the 
degree of A.M., and some years later, as we have men- 
tioned, enrolled him as an alumnus. 

Williamstown is one of the loveliest of the beautiful 
villages of New England, and its college has always been 
pre-eminently noted for its judicious and praiseworthy 
endeavours to promote the physical, intellectual, moral, 
and religious culture and well-being of its students, 
many of whom, occupying distinguished positions in art, 
science, literature, law, or in other responsible walks of 
life, have reflected high and merited honour on their 
Alma Mater. It was in the Mission Park at Williams- 
town, on a green slope surrounded by maple and fir trees, 
where now stands a white marble monument to indicate 
the sacred spot and commemorate the fact, that, in 1806, 
only four years before Bryant joined the college, five of the 
students, young men — Samuel J. Mills, James Eichards, 
Harvey Loomis, Francis Le Barron Eobbins, and Byram 
Green — at a prayer-meeting held in the open air, in the lee 
of a haystack, where they had temporarily sought shelter 
from a thunder shower, began the movement which, 
in that very year (1810), originated the American Board 
of Foreign Missions, of which the venerable and gifted 
the Eev. Dr. Mark Hopkins, ex-president of the college, 
is now the good, wise, and efficient President, a posi- 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 43 

tion which ho has hekl for the L^st threc-and-twenty 
years. ^ 

The present President of the College, the learned, 
active, and indefatigable Dr. P. A. Chadbourne — together 
with his accomplished wife, who is secretary of the 
Berkshire Branch of the JFoman's Board of Missions — is 
also true as steel to the good and time-honoured traditions 
of the place. 

The writer, a few years ago, when residing for ten 
months at Williamstown, near his friend. President 
Chadbourne, heard much in the locality about Bryant, 
from him. Dr. Hopkins, Professor Eaymond, Dr. Samuel 
Duncan, the late Dr. Calvin Durfee, and other residents of 
that "happy valley; " and became quite familiar with those 
lovely scenes, where the young poet, in his student days, 
used to ramble, and to which he, then old and venerable, 
still occasionally returned. 

The surrounding mountain scenery is enchantingly 
beautiful. The vale of the Hoosac itself resembles a 
great, broad, deep, fertile, Alpine valley. In shape it is 
irregularly circular, from eight to ten miles across the 
cup from rim to rim, and with other winding valleys 
ai)ening into it on four sides. Two rivers — the Green 
and the Hoosac — flow through it; and in the centre of 
the great valley rise several gently undulating elevations 
of land. One, the most 'prominent of these, is shaped 
like an inverted saucer, and richly wooded, like the sur- 
rounding green heights. On this romantic elevation, 
gleaming white among the trees, stand the various college 
buildings, commanding magnificent views of the deep 
ravines immediately below, of the surrounding mountains 

1 For an article, by the present writer, giving an account of The Mission 
Park at Williamstown— " The Birthplace of American Foreign Missions," see 
The Sunday at Home, Oct., 1875— A. J. S. 

4 



44 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

beyond them, and of the far blue hills seen rising in 
vistas on vistas through the distant valleys. The scenery 
is beautiful and richly varied on every side — whether the 
contrasts of light and shade be seen at noon, in the slant- 
ing glow of the morning or evening sun, or after sunset, 
when a pale, silvery, subdued light gleams up, ethereally 
pure, from the north-western horizon, and, blending 
softly and imperceptibly, at length fades away into the 
blue of the zenith; or when beheld "beautiful exceed- 
ingly " under the glorious and magical effects of moon- 
light in " the leafy month of June." There are, in truth, 
few lovelier spots in the world than the Hoosac valley. 

To a visitor from Europe it seems scarcely credible 
that, not more than about one hundred and fifty years 
ago, these hills and valleys were covered with dense 
primeval forests ; that here a few red men lived in wig- 
wams, and wandered by the river's brink, and that hostile 
Indian tribes from Canada made savage incursions on 
these and on the early settlers. 

Now the vale is a scene of peace, and a centre of 
civilization; Williams College, as a seat of learning, 
science, and religion, having already made itself power- 
fully felt for good, in many places scattered over the 
whole habitable globe. 

Such were the outward aspects and surroundings of 
Williamstown, where the youthful Bryant dearly loved, 
in solitude, to wander and muse, seeing visions and 
dreaming dreams as to a possible future, which his 
great capacity for work, together with an unswerving 
devotion to truth and duty, afterwards enabled him to 
realize. 

Till near the close of his long life he continued, from 
time to time, to revisit these scenes of natural beauty, 
so charming to strangers, but to him dearer still, because 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. ERYANT. 45 

suggestive of many early associations; and whenever he 
was able to renew acquaintance with them, it was always 
with fresh delight. 



CHAPTER IV. 

1811-1820: Thanatopsis— Plainfield and Gkeat 
Bakrington. 

Home Studies— Thanatopsis written— Law Studies— Admires Wordsworth- 
Odes— Admitted to the Bar— Plainfield— Great Barrington— Thanatopsis 
published — Hecollections of and Criticisms on Thanatopsis by Dana, 
Bryant, Miller, Palmer, Stoddard, and Curtis— The Poem itself— Inscrip- 
tion for the Entrance to a Wood— Bryant's Life at Great Barrington— 
Soothing Influences of Nature— Green Eiver— To a WaterfoAvl— Prose 
Articles— Miss Sedgwick— Miss Frances Fairchild- Song, Oh Fairest of the 
Rural Maids. 

At home, Bryant, for a year, devoted himself to the 
classics and mathematics, in the hope of accompanying 
his former class-mate to Yale College; but his father, still 
finding that the cost would be too great, could not afford 
to send him; so, with the Williamstown days, Bryant's 
schooling ended. 

The muses, however, were not neglected; and in the 
HanijJshire Gazette appeared an^ode, a patriotic effusion, 
beginning — 

'•' The Birthday of our nation 
Once more we greet with smiles," 

which the editor introduced to his readers, identifying 
the authorship by telling them that it was " from the pen 
of Mr. William 0. Bryant, son of Dr. Bryant of Cum- 
mington." Bryant was now thinking out and planning 
" Thanatopsis," a remarkable meditative poem on death, 
the first rough draught of which he wrote out in a week or 
so. This, the first enduring poem in American literatiu'C, 



46 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

displays an originality, power, and stately solemn grand- 
eur of which none of his previous efforts, clever though 
they be, had given the slightest presage. The youthful 
genius was now a master. 

Local tradition erroneously represents him as having 
composed "Thanatopsis " in his student days, while seated 
on a rock in a ravine situated on the outskirts of 
Williamstown, which rock is still pointed out to curious 
visitors. He may, probably, have thought of it there, 
and of many other things besides, as he wandered and 
mused, "nourishing a youth sublime;" but we have the 
definite authority of his own words for saying, that 
"Thanatopsis" was written in his eighteenth or nineteenth 
year, he was not certain which; it was probably the 
former, but, in any case, after he left college, and before 
he began his law studies in 1813. 

For some reason he did not send it, as he had sent 
other verses, to the Hampshire Gazette; nor did he seek, 
for it, publication in any form; but, laying it aside with 
the intention of retouching it, he would seem to have 
forgotten all about it. 

Bryant now betook himself to the study of law under 
the guidance of Judge Samuel Howe of Worthington, 
near Cummington, with whom he resided for nearly tvv^o 
years. 

On one occasion, we are told, the judge, finding a 
volume of Wordsworth in his student's hands, seriously 
warned liim that such reading would spoil his style ! His 
admiration for Wordsworth was great, and on reading 
that poet's writings for the first time he must have 
felt as Keats did on first looking into Chapman's Homer, 
— a new planet had svrum into his ken, and he had 
encountered one of the memorable delights of his life. 
He once told Richard H. Dana, that, "Upon opening 



LIP^E SKETCH OF WILLIAM C, BRYANT. 47 

Wordsworth, a thousand springs seemed to gush up at 
once in his heart, and the face of nature, of a sudden, to 
change into a strange freshness and life." 

In the IIam]?sMr6 Gazette appeared an ode, beginning, — 

" Amid the storms that shake the land, 
The din of party fray," 

written sometime after the first draft of " Thanatopsis," 
which had been laid aside in his portfolio for revisal and 
correction. 

Bryant completed his legal studies, at Bridgewater, with 
the Hon. William Baylies, and, in 1815, at the age of 
twenty-one, was admitted to the bar at Plymouth. 

He opened an office at Plainfield, where he had pre- 
viously studied when being prepared for college, but 
there being little scope for practice and few clients there, 
in 1816, in the month of October, when the woods were 
in all the glory of autumn, he turned his back upon the 
Hampshire hills for the adjoining county of Berkshire, 
and settled in Great Barrington. There he was to pass 
the next nine years of his life; and there some of his 
well-known poems were to be written. 

One day, Dr. Peter Bryant, then a member of the 
legislature, in turning over the contents of a drawer at 
Cummington, came upon several MS. poems which his 
son William had left behind him; and, among these 
was "Thanatopsis," with which he was greatly struck. It 
is related, that when the father showed it in manuscript, 
before its publication, to a lady well quahfied to judge of 
its merits, simply saying, " Here are some lines that our 
Willie has been writing," she read the poem, raised her 
eyes to the father's face, and burst into tears, in which 
Dr. Bryant, a somewhat reserved and silent man, was not 
ashamed to join. "And no wonder," continues the 



48 LIFE SKETCH OP WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

writer; "it must have seemed a mystery that in the 
bosom of eighteen had grown up thoughts that even in 
boyhood shaped themselves into solemn harmonies, ma- 
jestic as the diapason of ocean, fit for a temple-service 
beneath the vault of heaven." 

Quite unknown to his son, Dr. Bryant sent it, and two 
other of the poems, to the North American Ilmew. 
Eichard H. Dana, who was then on the committee of its 
management, was also greatly struck by the poems, but 
quite mystified as to their authorship at the time; and 
latterly, too, his memory was entirely at fault in sup- 
posing that the son had any hand whatever, either in 
sending the MSS. for publication, or in leading him to 
form any misconception on the subject. The following 
is the late venerable Dana's interesting account — subject 
to the correction we have pointed out — of what he re- 
members of the first publication of "Thanatopsis": — 

" Going into town one day while assisting E. T. Channing 
(now Professor) in the North American Review (1817), he read 
to me a couple of pieces of poetry which had just been sent to 
the Review — the ' Thanatopsis ' and ' The Inscription for the 

Entrance to a Wood.' While C was reading one of them 

I broke out saying, ' That was never written on this side of 
the water,' and naturally enough considering what American 
poetry had been up to that moment. I remember saying 
also, 'The father is much the cleverer man of the two.' Bryant's 
father was afterwards in our senate, and I went there to take a 
look at him. He was anything but a 'plain business-like aspect.' 
On the contrary, he had a finely marked and highly intel- 
lectual-looking head — you would have noticed him among a 
hundred men. But with all my examination I could not 
discover ' Thanatopsis ' in it — the poetic phase was wanting to 
me. I remember going away with a feeling of mortification 
that I could not discover the poetic in the face of the writer of 
' Thanatopsis.' There was no ' mistake of names,' you see, as 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. ERYANT. 40 

Griswold states. When for the first time I afterwcards saw 
Bryant at Cambridge, and spoke to him about his father's 
' Thanatopsis/ he explained the matter, and gave me a very 
characteristic reason for not sending both pieces in his own 
name; he felt as if it would be overdoing. We had a hearty 
laugh together when I told him of the physiognomical per- 
plexity his fanciful deception had thrown me in." 

The Rev. Jahu De Witt Miller states that Bryant 
Avrote him from Cummington on August 9th, 1877, that 
— "'Thanatopsis' was originally a fragment beginning 
at the hemistich ' Yet a few days and thee,' and closing 
with the hemistich 'and make their bed with thee.' 
His father found it among papers he had left in Cum- 
mington, and took it to Boston. 

" The author himself had nothing to do with its appear- 
ance in the North American, as The Post article intimates. 
It -was published in the North American in September, 
1817, not 1816, as is frequently stated. 

" In the place of the present familiar introduction, there 
were the f ollow^ing f oiu'-line stanzas : — ■ 

" ' Not that from life and all its woes 

The hand of death shall set me free ; 
Not that this head shall then repose 
In the low vale most peacefully. 

" ' Ah, when I touch Time's farthest brink, 
A kinder solace must attend ; 
It chills my very soul to think 

On the dread hour when life must end. 

' In vain the flattering verse may breathe 
Of ease from pain, and rest from strife ; 
There is a sacred dread of death 
Inwoven with the strings of life. 

" ' This bitter cup at first was given 

When angry justice frowned severe; 



50 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

And 'tis the eternal doom of Heaven 
That man must view the grave wdth fear.' 

" These were v/ritten as a separate poem; but they were 
handed by Mr. Bryant's father to Mr. Edward T. Chan- 
ning, Mr. Dana's colleague in the management of the 
North American, with the manuscript of ' Thanatopsis,' 
and" (the subject being similar, although the treatment is 
inferior and on a quite different key) "the same appeared 
in unbroken sequence upon them. Their separation, in 
the first edition of Mr. Bryant's poetical works, was 
simply the correction of an inadvertence. 

"The body of 'Thanatopsis' stands as it did when first 
■written. The introductory and closing lines were added 
in 1821, and some change made in the passage which 
speaks of the ' ocean.' 

"Mr. Bryant said to me a year ago: 'The poem attracted 
as much attention when first published as anything I ever 
wrote, and the elder Dana, when he saw it, insisted that 
it could not have been written on this side of the 
Atlantic' With 'Thanatopsis' appeared the inscription 
for the entrance to a wood, under the title of ' A Frag- 
ment.' " 

The editors of the North American Review, cordially 
welcoming the advent of a true poet, were glad to pub- 
lish what thus reached them. 

Of "Thanatopsis," Christopher North, at a later period, 
said, "It alone is sufficient to establish the author's claim 
to the honours of genius;" and Christopher was righ't, — 
for it has taken and retained its place in the language. 

Of Bryant and "Thanatopsis," Dr. Bay Palmer has 
ably and with fine discrimination pointed out, how 
remarkable it was that a youth of seventeen should have 
chosen such a theme, and that, in it should be found the 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 51 

germs of tlionglit wliicli were more fully developed in his 
later poems. In short, it afforded the key-note to his 
subsequent harmonies. "It indicated also," says he, 
" that nearly faultless taste in the choice of language, and 
that ear for the nobler harmonies of verse, which lend 
such purity and dignity and sweetness to all Mr. Bryant's 
poetry. As if instinctively, he has habitually used good 
Saxon English in giving form to his poetical conceptions. 
He has selected words that clearly and precisely expressed 
his meaning, as every clear thinker may, whether in 
poetry or prose. There can hardly be a greater error, 
than that of those who fancy that obscurity is either 
poetical or profound. It betrays either a poor affectation, 
or a weak brain that produces half-formed thoughts. 
Not only do Mr. Bryant's words express his meaning 
clearly; they express it generally with such felicity, with 
such discrimination of the nicest shades of thought, and 
with a fitness so chastely elegant, that meaning and 
expression seem to have been born together, and to be 
parts of the same unity. His blank-verse, in sustained 
strength, flexibility, and sonorous sweetness, rivals the 
best passages of Wordsworth, and is surpassed by that of 
no other English poet, unless it be Milton himself. His 
pieces in rhyme exliibit great simplicity, as well as great 
variety in their measures, and a perfection of rhythmic 
movement that pleases even a fastidious ear. From the 
' Thanatopsis ' to his latest pieces, he exhibits a high 
degree of constructive skill. It would be difficult to find 
anywhere in his pages an unpoetic word or an inhar- 
monious line." 

Eichard Henry Stoddard, after referring, in the first 
instance, to Wordsworth's influence on Bryant, thus 
writes of "Thanatopsis:" — 

"No boy, no yoimg man, has ever yet miderstood his 



52 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BP.YANT. 

(Wordsworth's) serene and lofty genius. He touches, he 
moves no man, until years have brought the philosophic mind. 
It comes to some early, to some late, to some not at all. It 
came to Bryant early, and it never left him. 'Thanatopsis' 
struck the key-note of his genius, disclosed to him the growth 
and grandeur of his powers, and placed him, for what he was, 
before all American poets, past, present, and to come. . . . 
"If we did not know that 'Thanatopsis' was the work of a 
young man, we would never guess that such was the fact, it is 
so serious, so elevated, so noble." 

Of this poem, too, George William Curtis says : — 

" I linger upon it, because it was the first adequate poetic 
voice of the solemn New England spirit ; and in the grandeur 
of the hills, in the heroic Puritan tradition of sacrifice and 
endurance, in the daily life, saddened by imperious and awful 
theologic dogma, in the hard circumstance of the pioneer 
household, the contest with the wilderness, the grim legends 
of Indians and the war, have we not some outward clue to the 
strain of ' Thanatopsis,' the depthless and entrancing sadness, 
as of inexorable fate, that murmurs, like the autumn wind 
through the forest, in the melancholy cadences of this hymn 
to Death? Moreover, it was without a harbinger in our 
literature, and without a trace of the English masters of the 
hour." 

We now present this remarkable poem in its complete 
and latest form : — 

THANATOPSIS. 

To him who in the love of Nature holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she spealvS 
A various language; for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
Into his darker musings, with a mild 
And healing sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 53 

Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
Over thy spirit, and sad images 
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall. 
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart; — 
Go forth, under the open sky, and list 
To Nature's teachings, while from all around— 
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air- 
Comes a still voice— Yet a few days, and thee 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, 
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall clairi 
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, 
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
To mix for ever with the elements, 
To be a brother to the insensible rock 
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infant world— with kings, 
The powerful of the earth— the wise, the good, 
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills 
Eock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,— the vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 
The venerable woods— rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, 
Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,— 
Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 



54 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings 
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound. 
Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there: 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. 
So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one as before will chase 
His favourite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 
And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
Of ages glide away, the sons of men. 
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 
In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man — 
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side. 
By those, who in their turn shall follow them. 

So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan, which moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death. 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave, at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave. 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 

Beyond a meadow, to the south of the old homestead 
at Cummington, lies the entrance to the wood, for which 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 55 

the poet, in 1813, wrote the "Inscription" which was 
sent, along with 'Thanatopsis,' to the Bevieiu. This poem 
we also quote in full :— 

INSCEIPTION FOR THE ENTRANCE TO A WOOD. 

Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs 
No school of long experience, that the world 
Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen 
Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares, 
To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood 
And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade 
Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze ' 
That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm 
To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here 
Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men, 
And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse 
Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth, 
But not in vengeance. God hath yoked to guilt 
Her pale tormentor, misery. Hence, these shades 
Are still the abodes of gladness; the thick roof 
Of green and stirring branches is alive 
And musical with birds, that sing and sport 
In wantonness of spirit ; while below 
The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect, 
Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shade 
Try their thin wings, and dance in the warm beam 
That waked them into life. Even the green trees 
Partake the deep contentment; as they bend 
To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky 
Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene. 
Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy 
Existence, than the winged plunderer 
That sucks its sweets. The mossy rocks themselves, 
And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees 
That lead from knoll to knoll a causey rude 
Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots, 
With all their earth upon them, twisting high. 



56 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet 
Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its bed 
Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks, 
Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice 
In its own being. Softly tread the marge, 
Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren 
That dips her bill in w^ater. The cool wind, 
That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee. 
Like one that loves thee, nor will let thee pass 
Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace. 

The picturesque village of Great Barrington, where 
Bryant had now settled down, is situated among the 
Berkshire hills, in the beautiful valley of the Housatonic. 
There lie delighted in long rambles, as in boyish days 
when he accompanied his father, and would return 
laden with sylvan trophies and botanical specimens. He 
read the best general literature, but did not allow such 
pursuits to interfere with professional engagements. He 
got into a fair practice and was reckoned a good lawyer. 

A companion of those days, the venerable Ealph 
Taylor, who lived in the same house with him, remem- 
bers that he was fond of roaming over the hills, and in 
his walks was very genial and sociable. He had gay 
comrades, too, village revellers; but Bryant, then as 
always, quietly held his own temperate way, unseduced 
by fatal good-fellowship. "He was an active, learned, 
and, as I have heard, even a fiery young lawyer, and his 
name appears four or five times in the reports of the 
Supreme Court. He was also a true son of the land of 
the town-meeting, and he did not evade his duty as a 
citizen. On the first day of January, 1818, he delivered 
an address before the Great Barrington Bible Society, 
and, in 1820, he was elected clerk of the town, and 
remained in office until he removed to New York." 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 57 

One of tlie first duties the young justice was called 
upon to perform, was a marriage ceremony under some- 
wliat peculiar circumstances. The bridegroom, Major 
Eobbins, and the bride. Miss Tobey, were both members 
of the Protestant Episcopal Church, and, there being no 
clergyman of their own denomination within reach, they 
preferred a purely civil ceremony to the intervention of 
a dissenter, — so Bryant was requested to tie the conjugal 
knot. 

AVhen weary with professional toils and the strifes of 
men, he had recourse to nature, and delighted more 
especially to visit the scenes of his childhood. Exerting 
a healing, recuperative influence, the old scenes always 
soothed him; and mark how he rejoices over them in his 
"Lines on Eevisiting the Country" — 

" I stand upon my native lulls again, 

Broad, round, and green, that in the summer sky 
With garniture of waving grass and grain, 

Orchards, and beechen forests, basking lie. 
While deep the sunless glens are scooped between, 
Where brawl o'er shallow beds the streams unseen. 

" Here, have I 'scaped the city's stifling heat, 
Its horrid sounds, and its polluted air, 
And, where the season's milder fervours beat, 

And gales, that sweep the forest borders, beai- 
The song of bird and sound of running stream, 
Am come awhile to wander and to dream." 

4t Great Barrington, in 1817, he wrote "The Green 
River," which, characterized by minute picturesqueness of 
detail, bears witness to his intimate communion with Na- 
ture. It is also markedly autobiographical, and expresses 
keen regret at his enforced absences from hill and dale, 
and, at the same time, dissatisfaction Avitli law, which ho 



58 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

had now adox3ted as his profession. The last stanzas of 
the poem, contrasting his present enforced drudgery for 
the dregs of men, with the quiet calm in Nature's placid 
face which in old days won his heart, remind us of a 
similar thought in Heber's missionary hymn when he 
says — 

"Every prospect pleases, 
And only man is vile." 

Let the reader now endeavour to realize and enjoy 
what Bryant here so beautifully describes : — 

GEEEN EIYER. 

"When breezes are soft and skies are fair, 
I steal an hour from study and care, 
And hie me away to the woodland scene, 
Where wanders the stream with waters of green, 
As if the bright fringe of herbs on its brink 
Had given their stain to the wave they drink ; 
And they, whose meadows it murmurs through. 
Have named the stream from its own fair hue. 

Yet pure its waters — its shallows are bright 
With coloured pebbles and sparkles of light. 
And clear the depths where its eddies play. 
And dimples deepen and whirl away. 
And the plane-tree's speckled arms o'ershoot 
The swifter current that mines its root, 
Through whose 'shifting leaves, as you walk the hill. 
The quivering glimmer of sun and rill 
With a sudden flash on the eye is thrown. 
Like the ray that streams from the diamond-stone. 
Oh, loveliest there the spring days come, 
With blossoms, and birds, and wild-bees' hum ; 
The flowers of summer are fairest there. 
And freshest the breath of the summer air; 
And sweetest the golden autumn day 
In silence and sunshine glides away. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 59 

Yet fair as thou art, thou shunnest to glide, 
Beautiful stream! by the village side; 
But windest away from haunts of men, 
To quiet valley and shaded glen ; 
And forest, and meadow, and slope of hill, 
Around thee, are lonely, lovely, and still. 
Lonely — save when, by thy rippling tides, 
From thicket to thicket the angler glides ; 
Or the simpler comes, with basket and book. 
For herbs of power on thy banks to look ; 
Or haply, some idle dreamer, like me. 
To wander, and muse, and gaze on thee. 
Still — save the chirp of birds that feed 
On the river cherry and seedy reed. 
And thy own wild music gushing out 
"With mellow murmur of fairy shout. 
From dawn to the blush of another day, 
Like traveller singiug along his way. 

That fairy music I never hear. 
Nor gaze on those waters so green and clear, 
And mark them winding away from sight, 
Darkened with shade or flashing with light, 
While o'er them the vine to its thicket clings. 
And the zephyr stoops to freshen his wings. 
But I wish that fate had left me free 
To wander these quiet haunts with thee. 
Till the eating cares of earth should depart. 
And the peace of the scene pass into my heart ; 
And I envy thy stream, as it glides along 
Through its beautiful banks in a trance of song. 

Though forced to drudge for the dregs of men. 
And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen, 
And mingle among the jostling crowd. 
Where the sons of strife are subtle and loud— 
I often come to this quiet place. 
To breathe the airs that ruffle thy face. 
And gaze upon thee in silent dream, 
5 



60 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

For in thy lonely and lovely stream 
An image of that calm life appears 
That won my heart in my greener years. 

Although neglecting no duties, it is plain that "Bryant's 
taste, his temperament, and his natural powers, were 
averse to law. The literary instinct was always stirring 
in his heart, and there are constant and delightful traces 
of his literary industry at this time. In March, 1818, 
he published in the North American Review a fragment 
of ' Simonides,' the ' Lines to a Water-fowl,' and a poem 
to a friend upon his marriage, in which the poet gaily 
declares what he daily disproved : — ■ 

* And I that loved to trace the woods before, 
And climb the hill, a playmate to the breeze. 
Have vowed to tune the rural lay no more, 
Have bid my useless classics sleep at ease, 
And left the race of bards to scribble, starve, and freeze.' 

" If he thought himself willing to leave the muse, she 
was not ready to desert him." 

His declared intention reminds us of young Isaac 
Watts, whose father had forbidden him to rhyme, and 
who, when about to receive a chastisement for trans- 
gressing in that way, pitifully exclaimed — ■ 

" Oh! father, do some pity take, 
And I no more will verses make!" 

It was in 1815, during his residence at Cummington, 
in his twenty-first year, that his lines addressed "To a 
Water-fowl" were written. They were published six 
months after " Thanatopsis," and, next to it, are the best 
known of his earlier poems. "Like the other produc- 
tions of its author," says Dr. H. N. Powers, " its concep- 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 61 

tion was natural. One evening he saw a wild-duck flying 
across a sky of marvellous beauty, and a picture of the 
Divine Providence was revealed to him. Southey's poem 
* The Ebb-Tide' suggested the form of the stanza; and his 
genius wrought the elevated and tranquillizing verses 
which were published in the North American Jieview." 

This exquisite poem displays keen and accurate obser- 
vation of Nature, sound philosophy, and fine lessons of 
faith and trust in God's all-embracing providence, ex- 
pressed, throughout, in language clear and strong, and 
in melody simple and sweet. 

We possess, and preserve amongst our choicest trea- 
sures, a manuscript copy of these beautiful lines, written 
out for us by the venerable poet not long before his death. 

Before giving the poem itself, we preface it with the 
following passage from an able article by Dr. Ray Palmer 
in the International Bevieiv: — 

"The piece entitled 'To a Waterfowl' exhibits a combination 
of some of Mr. Bryant's best characteristics. It has always 
been a favourite. It is an example of that refined and subtle 
imagination which is one of the highest gifts of any poet, and 
which is displayed to an eminent degree in many of Mr. 
Bryant's pieces. Nothing more exquisite can be conceived 
than the picture it presents to the mental eye of the imagina- 
tive reader. The melody of the verse is as sweet as it is 
simple. The choice of language is perfect. Made'' up very 
largely of monosyllabic words, the stanzas are clear and strong. 
Then, while the eye is following the solitary figure as it seems 
to ' float along,' till, fading to an atom, it vanishes in the far-off 
heaven, comes the suggested thought of God's all-embracing 
providence guiding it on its trackless way — a fine illustration 
of the faith which seems so inwrought into the heart of the 
writer that spontaneously it seeks expression on every fit 
occasion." 



62 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

TO A WATEEFOWL. 

Whither, 'midst falling dew, 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 
Far, through their rosy depths^ dost thou pursue 

Thy solitary way ? 

Vainly the fowler's eye 
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 
As, darkly seen against the crimson sky, 

Thy figure floats along. 

Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean-side? 

There is a Power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — 
The desert and illimitable air — 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned, 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 

Though the dark night is near. 

And soon that toil shall end ; 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest. 
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, 

Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 
Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given 

And shall not soon depart. 

He who, from zone to zone. 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 
In the long way that I must tread alone, 

y/ill lead my steps aright. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 63 

Bryant also contributed several prose articles to the 
pages of the North American Bevieiv; the July number 
of that same year (1818) contained '' an interesting paper 
upon American poetry, in which he finds little to praise, 
but thinks that it was better than could have been 
expected in a young nation just beginning to attend to 
intellectual refinement, and he concludes felicitously, but 
discouragingly, that the only poets we had could hardly 
be more admired 'without danger to the taste of the 
nation/ A year later, in June, 1819, he published a 
short essay in the North American Beview, on 'The 
Happy Temperament,' which is singularly interesting as 
the work of a poet whose strain is sometimes called 
remote from human sympathy, and a man who was so 
often thought to be cold and austere. It is not, says the 
author of ' Thanatopsis,' the shallow, unsympathetic dis- 
position which laughs all ills away that is to be called 
happy, because the ' melancholy feelings, when called up 
by their proper and natural causes, and confined to their 
proper limits, are the parents of almost all our virtues.' 
' The temperament of an unbroken cheerfulness,' says our 
poet, 'is the temperament of insensibility.' A paper in 
the September number of the same year, on ' Tri-syllabic 
Feet, in Iambic Verse,' shows his constant and careful 
study of the literary art, as well as of literature." 

At Great Barrington Bryant made the acquaintance 
of Miss Catherine M. Sedgwick, an authoress now well 
known for the refinement and home sentiment of her 
sketches and stories. She afterwards dedicated to him 
her novel Rediuoocl. From her pen we have a sketch of 
the poet at this period. Writing from Sfcockbridge on 
May 17th, 1820, she says:— 

" I sent for Mr. Bryant last week, and he called to see me 
on his return from court. I told him Mr. Sewall had com- 



64 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

missioned me to request some contributions from him to a 
collection of hymns ; and he said, without any hesitation, that 
he was, obliged to Mr. Sewall, and would with great pleasure 
comply with his request. He has a charming countenance, 
and modest but not bashful manners. I made him promise 
to come and see us shortly. He seemed gratified ; and if Mr. 
Sewall has reason to be obliged to me (which I certainly think 
he has), I am doubly obliged by an opportunity of securing 
the acquaintance of so interesting a man." 

At Great Barrington Bryant also met — and loved — Miss 
Frances Fairchild, a lady of good family. His love for 
her was pure and lasting, and she was in every way well 
worthy of it. The song, in which a hunter, lingering 
beside the hill, sees the dwelling of his Genevieve, is a 
veiled commemoration of the shy poet's own love : — 

SONG. 

Soon as the glazed and gleaming snow 
Eeflects the day-dawn cold and clear, 

The hunter of the West must go 
In depth of woods to seek the deer. 

His rifle on his shoulder placed. 

His stores of death arranged with skill. 

His moccasins and snow-shoes laced — 
Why lingers he beside the hill ? 

Far, in the dim and doubtful light, 
Where woody slopes a valley leave, 

He sees what none but lover might. 
The dwelling of his Genevieve. 

And oft he turns his truant eye. 
And pauses oft, and lingers near ; 

But when he marks the reddening sky, 
He bounds away to hunt the deer. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. G5 

The following verses, which, for simple purity and deli- 
cate imagery, are most characteristic of Bryant's genius, 
were also addressed to the lady of his choice : — 

<'OII FAIREST OF THE EURAL MAIDS." 

Oh fairest of the rural maids ! 
Thy birth was in the forest shades ; 
Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky, 
Were all that met thine infant eye. 

Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a chill, 
Were ever in the sylvan wild ; 
And all the beauty of the place 
Is in thy heart and on thy face. 

The twilight of the trees and rocks 
Is in the light shade of thy locks; 
Thy step is as the wind, that weaves 
Its playful way among the leaves. 

Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene 
And silent waters heaven is seen; 
Their lashes are the herbs that look 
On their young figures in the brook. 

The forest depths, by foot unpressed. 
Are not more sinless than thy breast; 
The holy peace, that fills the air 
Of those calm solitudes, is there. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 



CHAPTER V. 

1821-1825: Great Barkington— His Marriage— The Ages — 
Volume Published — Other Poems — Abandons Law. 

Marriage and Happy Home Life— Eecites The Ages at Harvard— Selections 
from that Poem— Publishes a Volume— The Yellow Violet — Walk at 
Sunset— The West Wind— The Massacre at Scio— The Indian Girl's Lament 
—An Indian at the Burial-place of his Fathers— Monument Mountain- 
After a Tempest — A Forest Hymn — The Old Man's Funeral — The 
Murdered Traveller— March— Autumn Woods— Hymn to the North Star 
—Lapse of Time— Verplanck and the Sedgwicks— Visits New York City 
—Leaves Great Barrington and the Law— His disgust at Legal Chicanery 
—June. 

In January, 1821, at Great Barrington, Miss Frances 
Faircliild became Mr. Bryant's wife; and, for six-and- 
forty years thereafter, she was the good angel of his life. 
A woman of rare excellence, naturally sympathetic, gentle 
and prepossessing, she was kind, hospitable, greatly be- 
loved, and universally respected by friends and acquaint- 
ances. Thoroughly ingenuous, she yet possessed great 
practical sagacity and tact, while " her whole life," we 
are told by Dr. Eay Palmer, " v/as pervaded by a tranquil 
religious spirit." Mr. Bryant's domestic life in all re- 
spects was an eminently happy one. During the whole 
period they lived together " his wife was his only really 
intimate friend, and when she died he had no other. He 
was young, his fame was grooving, and with domestic 
duties, with literary studies and work, and professional 
and public activities, his tranquil days passed in the happy 
valley of the Housatonic." Always trustful and helpful, 
the memory of her purity, devotion, and piety is embalmed 
in many of the poet's stanzas, to some of which we shall 
afterwards have occasion to refer. 

The great interest awakened by his published poems 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. G7 

now led the students of Harvard College, Cambridge, to 
ask Bryant to recite a poem before them during Com- 
mencement week. This was in the summer of 1821, the 
year of his marriage, and when he was in his twenty- 
seventh year. 

In response, the young lawyer prepared " The Ages," 
a didactic poem, the longest and most elaborate he ever 
wrote. Thoughtful and suggestive, it stands first in 
all the complete editions of Bryant's collected works, 
forming a fitting introduction to the other poems. 
General James Grant Wilson aptly characterizes it as 
"A comprehensive poetical essay, reviewing the world's 
progress, in a panoramic view of the ages, and glowing 
with a prophetic vision of the future of America." 

George William Curtis says, ''It is a simple, serious, 
and thoughtful survey of history, tracing a general law 
of progress; and the stately Spenserian measure is marked 
by the moderation, the sinewy simplicity, the maturity 
and freedom from mannerism, which are Bryant's sign- 
manual. The last stanza of this poem breathes in majes- 
tic music that pure passion for America, and that strong 
and sublime faith in her destiny, which constantly ap- 
pears in his verse and never wavered in his heart." 

Richard Henry Stoddard describes it, as a rapid, com- 
prehensive, philosophic, and picturesque summary of the 
history of mankind from the earliest periods, a shifting 
panorama of good and evil figures and deeds, the rising 
and falling of religions, kingdoms, empires, and the great 
shapes of Greece and Eome. "The twentieth stanza, 
which describes the lazy convent life of the Eomish 
orders," says he, " is a masterpiece of quiet sarcasm; and 
the lines which convey profoundly the influences of the 
Romish Church are so matchless that I must quote 
them : — 



68 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

'The throne, whose roots are in another world, 
And whose far-reaching shadow awed our own/ 

" The pictures of the landscapes of this western world, 
beautiful, grand, animated, many - watered and sail- 
thronged, the glimpses of Indian life, the appearance of 
the white race, the receding of forests and the rising of 
towns — all form a magnificent gallery of life and action 
and emotion. The young gentlemen of Harvard were 
wiser than they knew when they invited Bryant to write 
a poem for them; for their invitation resulted in the 
best college poem that ever was written." 

The following stanzas of the poem precede his survey 
of the great empires of the old world : — 

" Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth 
In her fair page ; see, every season brings 
New change, to her, of everlasting youth ; 
Still the green soil, with joyous living things, 
Swarms, the wide air is full of joyous wings, 
And myriads, still, are happy in the sleep 
Of ocean's azure gulfs, and where he flings 
The restless surge. Eternal Love doth keep. 
In his complacent arms, the earth, the air, the deep. 

" Will then the merciful One, who stamped our race 
With his own image, and who gave them sway 
O'er earth, and the glad dwellers on her face, 
Now that our swarming nations far away 
Are spread, where'er the moist earth drinks the day, 
Forget the ancient care that taught and nursed 
His latest offspring? will he quench the ray 
Infused by his own forming smile at first, 

And leave a work so fair all blighted and accursed? 

" Oh, no ! a thousand cheerful omens give 
Hope of yet happier days, whose dawn is nigh. 
He who has tamed the elements, shall not live 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 69 

The slave of his own passions ; he whose eye 
Unwinds the eternal dances of the sky, 
And in the abyss of brightness dares to span 
The sun's broad circle, rising yet more high. 
In God's magnificent works his will shall scan — 
And love and peace shall make their paradise with man." 

How fresh and beautiful is his picture of the American 
continent ! 

Late, from this Western shore, that morning chased 
The deep and ancient night, which threw its shroud 
O'er the green land of groves, the beautiful waste, 
Nurse of full streams, and lifter-up of proud 
Sky-mingling mountains that o'erlook the cloud. 
Erewhile, where yon gay spires their brightness rear. 
Trees waved, and the brown hunter's shouts were loud 
Amid the forest; and the bounding deer 
Fled at the glancing plume, and the gaunt wolf yelled near. 

And where his willing waves yon bright blue bay 
Sends up, to kiss his decorated brim. 
And cradles, in his soft embrace, the gay 
Young group of grassy islands born of him. 
And crowding nigh, or in the distance dim. 
Lifts the white throng of sails, that bear or bring 
The commerce of the world ; — with tawny limb, 
And belt and beads in sunlight glistening. 
The savage urged his skiff like wild bird on the wing. 

Then all this youthful paradise around. 
And all the broad and boundless mainland, lay 
Cooled by the interminable wood, that frowned 
O'er mount and vale, where never summer ray 
Glanced, till the strong tornado broke his way 
Through the gray giants of the sylvan wild ; 
Yet many a sheltered glade, with blossoms gay 
Beneath the showery sky and sunshine mild, 
Within the shaggy arms of that dark forest smiled. 



70 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

There stood the Indian hjCmlet, there the lake 
Spread its blue sheet that flashed with many an oar, 
Where the brown otter plunged him from the brake, 
And the deer drank : as the light gale flew o'er, 
The twinkling maize-field rustled on the shore ; 
And while that spot, so wild, and lone, and fair, 
A look of glad and guiltless beauty wore, 
And peace was on the earth and in the air. 
The warrior lit the pile, and bound his captive there. 

Not unavenged — the foeman, from the wood. 
Beheld the deed, and when the midnight shade 
Was stillest, gorged his battle-axe with blood ; 
All died — the wailing babe — the shrinking maid — 
And in the flood of fire that scathed the glade. 
The roofs went down ; but deep the silence grew. 
When on the dewy woods the day-beam played ; 
No more the cabin-smokes rose wreathed and blue, 
And ever, by their lake, lay moored the bark canoe. 

Look now abroad — another race has filled 
These populous borders — wide the wood recedes, 
And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are tilled : 
The land is full of harvests and green meads ; 
Streams numberless, that many a fountain feeds. 
Shine, disembowered, and give to sun and breeze 
Their virgin waters ; the full region leads 
New colonies forth, that toward the western seas 
Spread, like a rapid flame among the autumnal trees. 

We also present the closing stanza of the poem — that 
to which Curtis refers : — 

But thou, my country, thou shalt never fall, 
Save w^ith thy children — thy maternal care. 
Thy lavish love, thy blessings showered on all — 
These are thy fetters — seas and stormy air 
Are the wide barrier of thy borders, where. 
Among thy gallant sons who guard thee well. 
Thou laugh'st at enemies : who shall then declare 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 71 

The date of thy deep-founded strength, or tell 
How happy, in thy lap, the sons of men shall dvrcll? 

At this time he was earnestly and wisely advised by 
his friends, Richard H. Dana, Professor Edward T. Chan- 
ning of Harvard College, and Judge Willard Philips, to 
publish "The Ages," with other poems, in a volume, 
which he accordingly did. 

This little thin book of forty-four pages was issued by 
HilKard & Metcalf, of Cambridge, Mass., and entitled 
Poems by William Cullen Bryant. Of it General James 
Grant AVilson writes : — 

"A copy is now lying before me. It contains 'The 
Ages,' 'To a Waterfowl,' 'Translation of a Fragment of 
Simonides,' 'Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood,' 
' The Yellow Violet,' ' Song,' ' Green Paver,' and ' Thana- 
topsis.' In this rare little volume, the iirst and last para- 
graphs of the latter poem appear as they now stand, the 
version originally published in the AWth American 
Bevieio having commenced with the lines, 

'Yet a few days, and thee 
eholding 
In all his course ; * 

and ended with the words, 

'And make their bed with thee.' 

"Last winter I met Mr. Bryant in a Broadway book- 
store, and showed him a copy of this early edition of his 
poetical writings, which the dealer in literary wares had 
just sold for ten dollars. He laughingly remarked, 
'Well, that's more than I received for its contents.'" 

The volume was everywhere favourably received, and, 
beyond question, established Bryant's reputation as a poet. 
It contains the following simple and beautiful poem: — 



The all-beholding sun shall see no more 



72 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

THE YELLOW VIOLET. 

When beech en buds begin to swell, 

And woods the blue-bird's warble know. 

The yellow violet's modest bell 

Peeps from the last year's leaves below. 

Ere russet fields their green resume, 
Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare, 

To meet thee, when thy faint perfume 
Alone is in the virgin air. _ . 

Of all her train, the hands of Spring 
First plant thee in the watery mould, 

And I have seen thee blossoming 
Beside the snow-bank's edges cold. 

Thy parent sun, who bade thee view 
Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip. 

Has bathed thee in his own bright hue, 
And streaked with jet thy glowing lip. 

Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat, 
And earthward bent thy gentle eye, 

Unapt the passing view to meet. 

When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh. 

Oft, in the sunless April day. 

Thy early smile has stayed my walk ; 

But midst the gorgeous blooms of May, 
I passed thee on thy humble stalk. 

So they, who climb to wealth, forget 
The friends in darker fortunes tried. 

I copied them — but I regret 

That I should ape the ways of pride. 

And when again the genial hour 
Awakes the painted tribes of light, 

I'll not o'erlook the modest flower 

That made the woods of April bright. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 73 

Shortly afterwards appeared his "Hymn to Death," 
to which allusion has already been made, in connection 
with the touching tribute, near the close of it, to the 
memory of his father. In the poem, he looks upon death 
as the friend of man, delivering him from the hand of 
the tyrannical oppressor and wrong-doer, and from the 
ceaseless tormenting worry, and worse than fiendish 
cruelty of the wicked. 

In this same memorable year, too (1821), Dana pub- 
lished his Idle Man, and amongst Bryant's contributions 
to it were " The Green Eiver," the " Walk at Sunset," 
and "The West Wind." 

" A Walk at Sunset," says Stoddard, " is an exquisitely 
tender picture of the Housatonic Valley as I have seen it 
on summer evenings, at Stockbridge, when it is suffused 
with yellow light, and the eastern heavens are coloured 
rosily. The peculiar beauty of the landscape recalls the 
memory of those who looked upon it in earlier days, and 
who are not unnaturally supposed to have felt its calm- 
ness, and to have been won by its charm. The poet sees 
them in fancy, and reviews for the moment their pleasing 
belief that the souls of their warriors went to happy 
islands beyond the sunset — 

' Where winds are aye at peace, and skies are fair, 
And purple-skirted clouds curtain the crimson air.' 

" The poet's thoughts wander back to days before the 
red man came, when the deer fed in the shade, and no 
tree in the wilderness was felled except by the tooth of 
the beaver, the winds, or the rush of floods. Visions of 
their coming, their deeds in the chase and in war pass 
before his eyes, and he sees the green sod of the valley 
and the silvery waters of the river taking the first stains 
of blood. They are 2;one now, gone like the sunset, and 



74 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

night is pressing on. All that tells their story is the 
white bone which the plough strikes in the harvest field. 
The offspring of another race, he stands upon their ashes, 
beside a stream they loved; and where their night-fire 
showed the gray oaks by fits, and their war-song rang, he 
teaches the quiet shades the strains of a new tongue. 
He bids the sun farewell; his light will shine on other 
changes, but he will never see those realms again, 

' Darkened by boundless groves and roamed by savage men.' 

" I have dwelt upon this element of Bryant's poetry, 
because it appeared, in no other American poet, to the same 
extent and with the same force. His mind, always a 
tenacious one, never suffered it to escape, but referred to 
it in after years again and again." 

In it, Bryant begins to link the surrounding scenes of 
nature with the aboriginal races who formerly gazed on 
them : — 

For ages, on the silent forests here, 

Thy beams did fall before the red man came 

To dwell beneath them ; in their shade, the deer 

Fed, and feared not the arrow's deadly aim. 

Nor tree was felled, in all that world of woods. 

Save by the beaver's tooth, or winds, or rush of floods. 

Then came the hunter tribes, and thou didst look, 

For ages, on their deeds in the hard chase, 
And well-fought wars ; green sod and silver brook 
Took the first stain of blood ; before thy face 
The warrior generations came and passed, 
And glory wa« laid up for many an age to last. 

Note the accurate observation and fine open-air feeling 
displayed in the following verses from *'The West 
Wind:"— 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 75 

Thou wind of joy, and youth, and love; 

Spirit of the new- wakened year ! 
The sun in his bkie realm above 

Sraooths a bright path w^hen thou ait hero. 

In lawns, the murmuring bee is heard, 
The wooing ring-dove, in the shade ; 

On thy soft breath, the new-fledged bird 
Takes wing, half happy, half afraid. 

Ah ! thou art like our wayward race; — 

When not a shade of pain or ill' 
Dims the bright smile of Nature's face, 

Thou lov'st to sigh and murmur still. 

Bryant " was already aclmowledged to be the first of 
American poets, and he himself dates the da-vvn. of trans- 
Atlantic literature in the year 1821, which was the year 
of his marriage and of his own Harvard poem. It was 
in that year that Cooper's Spj was published and Irving's 
Skeich-Book was completed, and Bryant's own first slight 
volume was issued; Dana's Idle Man was just finished, 
and Miss Sedgwick had already published Ho;pe Leslie. 
Two years before, Percival's first volume had appeared, 
which Edward Everett had saluted as a harbinger of 
great achievements; and Halleck's and Drake's Croakers 
were already popular. Bryant's ambition, his hopes, his 
conscious power, secretly solicited him and weaned him 
more and more from the law." 

The war for the deliverance of Greece, which had 
begun during the previous year (1820), led to his writing 
that spirited lyric, "The Massacre at Scio," and the 
" Soncr of the Greek Amazon." 

Of the first of these, Bryant himself writes: — "This 
poem, written about the time of the horrible butchery 
of the Sciotes by the Turks, in 1824, has been more for- 
tunate than most poetical predictions. The independence 
6 



76 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

of the Greek nation, which it foretold, has come to pass, 
and the massacre, by inspiring a deeper detestation of 
theh- oppressors, did much to promote that event." 

THE MASSACEE AT SCIO. 

Weep not for Scio's children slain ; 

Their blood, by Turkish falchions shed, 
Sends not its cry to Heaven in vain 

For vengeance on the murderer's head. 

Though high the warm red torrent ran 
Between the flames that lit the sky, 

Yet, for each drop, an armed man 
Shall rise, to free the land, or die. 

And for each corpse, that in the sea 
Was thrown, to feast the scaly herds, 

A hundred of the foe shall be 

A banquet for the mountain-birds. 

Stern rites and sad shall Greece ordain 

To keep that day along her shore, 
Till the last link of slavery's chain 

Is shattered, to be worn no more. 

From the last — the " Song of the Greek Amazon " — 
we have only space for one verse; but it is so full of 
pathos and beauty, that it very suggestively pictures the 
tragedy of a whole life : — 

" My mirror is the mountain-spring, 

At which I dress my ruffled hair ; 
My dimmed and dusty arms I bring, . 

And wash away the blood-stain there. 
Why should I guard from wind and sun 

This cheek, whose virgin rose is fled? 
It was for one — oh, only one — ■ 

I kept its bloom, and he is dead." 

During the next four years, at intervals, amongst other 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 77 

themes, lie wrote his Indian poems, including "The 
Indian Girl's Lament," "An Indian Story," "An Indian 
at the Burial-place of his Fathers," and "Monument 
Mountain." 

These were evidently suggested by local traditions. 
"The Indian Girl's Lament" is exquisitely tender and 
picturesque. The opening verse is peculiarly felicitous, 
and strikes the key-note for the whole that follows, which 
is conceived in the same spirit as that which breathes in 
" The Sunset Walk":— 

" ' An Indian girl was sitting where 
Her lover, slain in battle, slept; 
Her maiden veil, her own black hair. 

Came down o'er eyes that wept ; 
And wildly, in her woodland tongue, 
This sad and simple lay she sung.' " 

"An Indian at the Burial-place of his Fathers " Stod- 
dard considers the best of the aboriginal poems, and 
says : — " If it has a fault, I have yet to find it, for, me 
judice, it is as glorious as the Berkshire scenery which it 
celebrates. The dramatic situation and the character of 
the speaker are both seized and retained with distinctness 
and strength." How touchingly he exclaims: — 

" They waste us — ay — like April snow 

In the warm noon, we shrink away ; 
And fast they follow, as we go 

Toward the setting day — 
Till they shall fill the land, and we 
Are driven into the Western Sea." 

In the noble poem, "Monument Mountain," a tragic 
story, full of pathos, is gracefully told. Of its origin, 
Biyant himself tells us that — " The mountain called by 



78 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

this name is a remarkable precipice in Great Barrington, 
overlooking the rich and picturesque valley of the Housa- 
tonic, in the western part of Massachusetts. At the 
southern extremity is, or was a few years since, a conical 
pile of small stones, erected, according to the tradition of 
the surrounding country, by the Indians, in memory of 
a woman of the Stockbridge tribe who killed herself by 
leaping from the edge of the precipice. Until within a 
few years past, small parties of that tribe used to arrive 
from their settlement in the western part of the State of 
New York, on visits to Stockbridge, the place of their 
nativity and former residence. A young woman belong- 
ing to one of these parties related, to a friend of the 
author, the story on which the poem of 'Monument 
Mountain' is founded. An Indian girl had formed an 
attachment for her cousin, which, according to the cus- 
toms of the tribe, was unlawful. She was, in conse- 
quence, seized with a deep melancholy, and resolved to 
destroy herself. In company with a female friend, she 
repaired to the mountain, decked out for the occasion in 
all her ornaments, and, after passing the day on the 
summit in singing with her companion the traditional 
songs of her nation, she threw herself headlong from the 
rock, and was killed." 

Of this poem Stoddard says : — "It is the most sustained 
and even of his early blank verse poems, grand in its 
sweep, picturesque in its groupings, dramatic, pathetic, 
primitive, a fitting monument for the poor Indian girl 
who perished among its precipices." 

MOl^UMENT MOUNTAIN. 

Thou who would'st see the lovely and the wild 
Mingled in harmony on Nature's face, 
Ascend our rocky mountains. Let thy foot 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 79 

Fail not witli weariness, for on their tops 

The beauty and the majesty of earth, 

Spread wide beneath, shall make thee to forget 

The steep and toilsome way. There, as thou stand'st, 

The haunts of men below thee, and around 

The mountain-summits, thy expanding heart 

Shall feel a kindred with that loftier world 

To which thou art translated, and partake 

The enlargement of thy vision. Thou shalt look 

Upon the green and rolling forest-tops, 

And down into the secrets of the glens. 

And streams that with their bordering thickets strive 

To hide their windings. Thou shalt gaze, at once, 

Here on white villages, and tilth, and herds. 

And swarming roads, and there on solitudes 

That only hear the torrent, and the wind. 

And eagle's shriek. There is a precipice 

That seems a fragment of some mighty wall, 

Built by the hand that fashioned the old world. 

To separate its nations, and thrown down 

"When the flood drowned them. To the north, a path 

Conducts you up the narrow battlement. 

Steep is the western side, shaggy and wild 

With mossy trees, and pinnacles of flint, 

And many a hanging crag. But, to the east. 

Sheer to the vale go down the bare old cliff's — 

Huge pillars, that in middle heaven upbear 

Their weather-beaten capitals, here dark 

With moss, the growth of centuries, and there 

Of chalky whiteness where the thunderbolt 

Has splintered them. It is a fearful thing 

To stand upon the beetling verge, and see 

Where storm and lightning, from that huge gray wall, 

Have tumbled down vast blocks, and at the base 

Dashed them in fragments, and to lay thine ear 

Over the dizzy depth, and hear the sound 

Of winds, that struggle with the woods below, 

Come up like ocean murmurs. But the scene 



80 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Is lovely round ; a beautiful river tliere 

Wanders amid the fresh and fertile meads, 

The paradise he made unto himself, 

Mining the soil for ages. On each side 

The fields swell upward to the hills ; beyond, 

Above the hills, in the blue distance rise 

The mountain-columns with which earth props heaven. 

There is a tale about these reverend rocks, 
A sad tradition of unhappy love. 
And sorrow^s borne and ended, long ago, 
When over these fair vales the savage sought 
His game in the thick woods. There was a maid, 
The fairest of the Indian maids, bright-eyed. 
With wealth of raven tresses, a light form, 
And a gay heart. About her cabin-door 
The wide old woods resounded with her song 
And fairy laughter all the summer day. 
She loved her cousin ; such a love was deemed, 
By the morality of those stern tribes. 
Incestuous, and she struggled hard and long 
Against her love, and reasoned with her heart, 
As simple Indian maiden might. In vain. 
Then her eye lost its lustre, and her step 
Its lightness, and the gray-haired men that passed 
Her dwelling, wondered that they heard no more 
The accustomed song and laugh of her, whose looks 
Were like the cheerful smile of Spring, they said. 
Upon the Winter of their age. She went 
To weep where no eye saw, and was not found 
When all the merry girls were met to dance, 
And all the hunters of the tribe were out; 
Nor when they gathered from the rustling husk 
The shining ear ; nor, when, by the river's side, 
They pulled the grape and startled the wild shades 
With sounds of mirth. The keen-eyed Indian dames 
Would whisper to each other, as they saw 
Her wasting form, and say. The girl will die. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 81 

One day into the bosom of a friend, 
A playmate of her young and innocent years, 
She poured her griefs. " Thou know'st, and thou alone," 
She said, " for I have told thee, all my love. 
And guilt, and sorrow. I am sick of life. 
All night I weep in darkness, and the morn 
Glares on me, as upon a thing accursed, 
That has no business on the earth. I hate 
The pastimes and the pleasant toils that once 
I loved ; the cheerful voices of my friends 
Sound in my ear like mockings, and, at night, 
In dreams, my mother, from the land of souls, 
Calls me and chides me. All that look on me 
Do seem to know my shame ; I cannot bear 
Their eyes ; I cannot from my heart root out 
The love that wrings it so, and I must die." 

It was a summer morning, and they went 
To this old precipice. About the cliffs 
Lay garlands, ears of maize, and shaggy skins 
Of wolf and bear, the offerings of the tribe 
Here made to the Great Spirit, for they deemed. 
Like worshippers of the elder time, that God 
Doth walk on the high places and affect 
The earth-o'erlooking mountains. She had on 
The ornaments with which her father loved 
To deck the beauty of his bright-eyed girl. 
And bade her wear when stranger warriors came 
To be his guests. Here the friends sat them down, 
And sang, all day, old songs of love and death. 
And decked the poor wan victim's hair with flowers, 
And prayed that safe and swift might be her way 
To the calm world of sunshine, where no grief 
Makes the heart heavy and the eyelids red. 
Beautiful lay the region of her tribe 
Below her — waters resting in the embrace 
Of the wide forest, and maize-planted glades 
Opening amid the leafy wilderness. 



82 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

She gazed upon it long, and at the sight 

Of her own village peeping through the trees, 

And her own dwelling, and the cabin roof 

Of him she loved with an unlawful love, 

And came to die for, a warm gush of tears 

Ean from her eyes. But when the sun grew low 

And the hill shadows long, she threw herself 

From the steep rock and perished. There was scooped, 

Upon the mountain's southern slope, a grave ; 

And there they laid her, in the very garb 

With which the maiden decked herself for death. 

With the same withering wild-flowers in her hair. 

And o'er the mould that covered her, the tribe 

Built up a simple monument, a cone 

Of small loose stones. Thenceforward all who passed, 

Hunter, and dame, and virgin, laid a stone 

In silence on the pile. It stands there yet. 

And Indians from the distant West, who come 

To visit where their fathers' bones are laid. 

Yet tell the sorrowful tale, and to this day 

The mountain where the hapless maiden died 

Is called the Mountain of the Monument. 

" From the stern and stately blank verse of ' Monument 
Mountain,' the genius of Bryant turned, in 'After a 
Tempest,' and painted an exquisite series of pictures of 
out-door life in six perfect Spenserian stanzas. Every 
line, every word is a picture, or a suggestion of a picture, 
and the manifold details are everywhere subordinate to 
the general effect. 

" ' The butterfly, 
That seemed a living blossom of the air,' 

is exceedingly beautiful." In this poem he says: — 

" I looked, and thought the quiet of the scene 
An emblem of the peace that yet shall be. 
When o'er earth's continents, and isles between, 



LirE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 83 

The noise of war sliall cease from sea to sea, 
And married nations dwell in harmony; 
When millions, crouching in the dust to one, 
No more shall beg their lives on bended knee, 
Nor the black stake be dressed, nor in the sun 
The o'erlaboured captive toil, and wish his life were done." 

In 182-4 Bryant engaged to furnish the publisher of the 
United States Literary Gazette, a Boston fortnightly maga- 
zine, with a poem each month for a year. He fulfilled 
his engagement, and received two hundred dollars for the 
twelve poems which he supplied. 

Amongst these were his picturesque poem, "A Forest 
Hymn," " The Old Man's Funeral," and " The Mm^dered 
Traveller." 

All Bryant's work, whether in rhyme or blank verse, 
is carefully finished, and, with such consummate art, that 
it is perfect, simple, and natural, leaving no trace of the 
chisel; while his manifest keen enjoyment of the varied 
aspects of nature, and his powers of accurately describing 
them, are alike great and marvellous. 

Of "A Forest Hymn," Stoddard justly observes: — ■ 
*' The gravity, the dignity, the solemnity of natural devo- 
tion, were never before stated so accurately and with such 
significance. We stand in thought in the heart of a great 
forest, under its broad roof of boughs, awed by the sacred 
influences of the place. A gloom which is not painful 
settles upon us; we are surrounded by mystery and un- 
seen energy. The shadoAvs are full of worshippers and 
beautiful things that live in their misty tvrilights." 

A FOEEST HYMN. 

The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned 
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, 
And spread the roof above them — ere he framed 



84 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

The lofty vault, to gather and roll back 

The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, 

Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, 

And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks 

And supplication. For his simple heart 

Might not resist the sacred influences 

Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, 

And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven 

Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound 

Of the invisible breath that swayed at once 

All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed 

His spirit with the thought of boundless power 

And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why 

Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect 

God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore 

Only among the crowd, and under roofs 

That our frail hands have raised ? Let me, at ler.st, 

Here, in the shadow of this aged wood. 

Offer one hymn — thrice happy, if it find 

Acceptance in His ear. 

Father, thy hand 
Hath reared these venerable columns, thou 
Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down 
Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose 
All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun. 
Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, 
And shot toward heaven. The century-living crow 
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died 
Among their branches, till, at last, they stood, 
As now^they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, 
Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold 
Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults, 
These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride 
Report not. No fantastic carvings show 
The boast of our vain race to change the form 
Of thy fair works. But thou art here — thou filFst 
The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 85 

That run along the summit of these trees 

In music ; thou art in the cooler breath 

That from the inmost darkness of the place 

Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the ground, 

The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee. 

Here is continual worship ; — Nature, here, 

In the tranquillity that thou dost love, 

Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, 

From perch to perch, the solitary bird 

Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, 'midst its herbs, 

"Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots 

Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale 

Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left 

Thyself without a witness, in these shades, 

Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and gi\ace 

Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak — 

By whose immovable stem I stand and seem 

Almost annihilated— not a prince. 

In all that proud old world beyond the deep, 

E'er wore his crown as loftily as he 

Wears the green coronal of leaves wdth which 

Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root 

Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare 

Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower. 

With scented breath and look so like a smile. 

Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, 

An emanation of the indwelling Life, 

A visible token of the upholding Love, 

That are the soul of this great universe. 

My heart is awed within me when I think 
Of the great miracle that still goes on, 
In silence, round me — the perpetual work 
Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed 
Forever. Written on thy works I read 
The lesson of thy own eternity. 
Lo ! all grow old and die — but see again, 
How on the faltering footsteps of decay 



86 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful youth 
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees 
Wave not less proudly that their ancestors 
Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost 
One of earth's charms : upon her bosom yet, 
After the flight of untold centuries, 
The freshness of her far beginning lies 
And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate 
Of his arch-enemy Death — yea, seats himself 
Upon the tyrant's throne — the sepulchre, 
And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe 
Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth 
From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. 

There have been holy men who hid themselves 
Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave 
Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived 
The generation born with them, nor seemed 
Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks 
Around them; — and there have been holy men 
Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. 
But let me often to these solitudes 
Retire, and in thy presence reassure 
My feeble virtue. Here its enemies. 
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink 
And tremble and are still. O God ! when thou 
Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire 
The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill. 
With all the waters of the firmament, 
The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods 
And drowns the villages ; when, at thy call. 
Uprises the great deep and throws himself 
Upon the continent, and overwhelms 
Its cities — who forgets not, at the sight 
Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, 
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by] 
Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face 
Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 87 

Of the mad unchained elements to teach 
Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, 
In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, 
And to the beautiful order of thy works 
Learn to conform the order of our lives. 

In "The Old Man's Funeral" the feeling of man's 
mortality is "tempered with a philosophy and a hope 
which had hitherto been wanting in his poetry." From 
it, we quote three stanzas, wdiich may not inaptly be 
applied to Bryant himself: — 

" Ye sigh not when the sun, his course fulfilled, 
His glorious course, rejoicing earth and sky, 
In the soft evening, when the winds are stilled, 

Sinks where his islands of refreshment lie. 
And leaves the smile of his departure, spread 
O'er the warm- coloured heaven and ruddy mountain head. 

" Why weep ye then for him, who, having w^on 
The bound of man's appointed years, at last, 
Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labours done, 

Serenely to his final rest has passed ; 
While the soft memory of his virtues, yet. 
Lingers like twilight hues, when the bright sun is set? 

" His youth was innocent ; his riper age 

Marked with some act of goodness every day; 
And w^atched by eyes that loved him, calm and sage, 

Faded his late declining years away. 
Meekly he gave his being up, and went 
To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent." 

How simply and effectively, in ballad form, Bryant 
tells the pathetic story of "The Murdered Traveller," 
founded on the following incident, which he himself 
thus relates: — "Some years since, in the month of May, 
the remains of a human body, partly devoured by wild 



88 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

animals, were found in a woody ravine, near a solitary- 
road passing between the mountains west of the village 
of Stockbridge. It was supposed that the person came 
to his death by violence, but no traces could be discovered 
of his murderers. It was only recollected that one 
evening, in the course of the previous winter, a traveller 
had stopped at an inn in the village of West Stockbridge; 
that he had inquired the way to Stockbridge; and that, 
in paying the innkeeper for something he had ordered, it 
appeared that he had a considerable sum of money in his 
possession. Two ill-looking men were present, and went 
out about the same time that the traveller proceeded on 
his journey. During the winter, also, two men of shabby 
appearance, but plentifully supplied with money, had 
lingered for a while about the village of Stockbridge. 
Several years afterward, a criminal, about to be executed 
for a capital offence in Canada, confessed that he had 
been concerned in murdering a traveller in Stockbridge 
for the sake of his money. Nothing was ever discovered 
respecting the name or residence of the person murdered." 
The poem consists of nine verses; of which we quote 
the first four, and the last : — 

" When Spring, to woods and wastes around, 
Brought bloom and joy again, 
The murdered traveller's boiies were found, 
Far down a narrow glen. 

" The fragrant birch, above him, hung 
Her tassels in the sky ; 
And many a vernal blossom sprung, 
And nodded careless by. 

" The red-bird warbled, as he wrought 

His hanging nest o'erhead. 
And fearless, near the fatal spot. 

Her young the partridge led. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 89 

" But there was weeping far away, 
And gentle eyes, for him, 
With watching many an anxious day. 
Were sorrowful and dim. 

" Long, long they looked — but never spied 
His welcome step again, 
Nor knew the fearful death he died 
Far down that narrow glen." 

"March" is thought, by many, to be one of the finest 
poems ever written on that wild and stormy month. 
Full of melody and simplicity, it is doubtless a gem. 

MAECH. 

The stormy March is come at last. 

With wind, and cloud, and changing skies; 

I hear the rushing of the blast. 

That through the snowy valley flies. 

Ah, passing few are they who speak. 
Wild, stormy month ! in praise of thee ; 

Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, 
Thou art a welcome month to me. 

For thou, to northern lands, again 
The glad and glorious sun dost bring. 

And thou hast joined the gentle train 
And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. 

And, in th}'- reign of blast and storm. 
Smiles many a. long, bright, sunny day. 

When the changed winds are soft and warm, 
And heaven puts on the blue of May. 

Then sing aloud the gushing rills 

In joy that they again are free. 
And, brightly leaping down the hills, 

Renew their journey to the sea. 



90 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

The year's departing beauty hides 
Of wintry storms the sullen threat ; 

But in thy sternest frown abides 
A look of kindly promise yet. 

Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies, 
And that soft time of sunny showers, 

When the wide bloom, on earth that lies, 
Seems of a brighter world than ours. 

How full of brilliant colour is the picture he gives us 
of the New England 

AUTUMN WOODS. 

Ere, in the northern gale. 
The summer tresses of the trees are gone, 
The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, 

Have put their glory on. 

. The mountains that infold, 
In their wide sweep, the coloured landscape round. 
Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold, 

That guard the enchanted ground. 

I roam the woods that crown 
The upland, where the mingled splendours glow, 
Where the gay company of trees look down 

On the green fields below. 

But 'neath yon crimson tree, 
Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, 
Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, 

Her blush of maiden shame. 

Oh, Autumn ! why so soon 
Depart the hues that make thy forests glad. 
Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon. 

And leave thee wild and sad ! 

Ah ! 'twere a lot too blest 
Forever in thy coloured shades to stray ; 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 01 

Amid tlic kisses of the soft south-west 
To rove aud dream for aye ; 

And leave the vain low strife 
That makes men mad — the tug for wealth and power — 
The passions and the cares that wither life, 

And waste its little hour. 

The "Hymn to the North Star," imaginative, yet clear 
and direct, is remarkable, alike for its comprehensive 
sweep, and its great condensation : — 

"A beauteous type of that unchanging good, 
That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray 
The voyager of time should shape his heedful way." 

The " Song of the Stars," often found in school collec- 
tions, and beginning thus, 

" When the radiant morn of creation broke, 
And the world in the smile of God awoke," 

although displaying less originality than the poet's wont, 
is, nevertheless, a great favourite with the young, who 
are generally quite fascinated with the subject, and also 
w^itli the ligbt, motion, and music of its airy rhythm. 

Such were some of the poems Bryant wrote at Great 
Barrington, while attending to professional engagements, 
and devoted to his home duties. To the first, we have 
seen him allude, in no very complimentary terms, when he 
speaks of himself as — 

" Forced to drudge for the dregs of men, 
And scrawl strange words with a barbarous pen." 

Of the second he speaks lovingly, hopefully, and cheerily 
in " The Lapse of Time," which opens thus : — 

" Lament who will, in fruitless tears, 

The speed with which our moments fly ; 

7 



92 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

I sigh not over vanished years, 

But watch the years that hasten by." 

Further on, he alludes, thus pleasantly, to his being a 
husband and a father : — 

" Oh, leave me, still, the rapid flight 

That makes the changing seasons gay, 
The grateful speed that brings the night, 
The swift and glad return of day ; 

" The months that touch, with added grace, 
This little prattler at my knee. 
In whose arch eye and speaking face 
New meaning every hour I see." 

And the poem concludes with the following true and 
philosophical reflection : — 

" Thou fliest and bear'st away our woes, 
And as thy shadowy train depart, 
The memory of sorrow grows 
A lighter burden on the heart." 

The delivery of " The Ages " at Harvard College, and 
the publication of his poems, at once called the attention 
of literary circles, very markedly, to Bryant. Among 
many favourable notices, on the appearance of his volume, 
there was one, very highly commendatory, in the .ISfeto York 
American, from the pen of Verplanck, a person of influence 
in the literary and social circles of New York. 

" Mr. Verplanck was a frequent visitor at the house of 
Mr. Henry I). Sedgwick, a substantial man of scholarly 
tastes, who had gathered about him such literary friends 
as Cooper, Halleck, Percival, and others distinguished in 
their day. Mr. Sedgwick made his summer home at 
Stockbridge, Mass., not far from Great Barrington, and 
was a friend and admirer of Bryant's." 



LIFE SKETCn OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 93 

In this way, those friends came to know him; and 
desirous that he should attain a wider field for his trans- 
cendant genius, continually urged upon him the propriety 
of settling in New York. He hated law, and liked litera- 
ture, so that his heart was all along with his advisers. 

In 1824, the Sedgwicks prevailed on him to pay his 
first visit to New York City; and, while there, he was 
introduced, under the best auspices, to the leading literary 
men of that metropolis. 

Of the impression he made on this visit. Miss Catherine 
M. Sedgwick writes : — 

"We have a great deal of pleasure from a glimpse of 
Bryant. I never saw him so happy, nor half so agreeable. 
I think he is very much animated with his prospects. 
Heaven grant that they may be more than realized ! I some- 
times feel some misgivings about it; but I think it is im- 
possible that, in the increasing demand for native literature, 
a man of his resources, who has justly the fii^st reputation, 
should not be able to command a competency. He has good 
sense, too, good judgment, and moderation. . . . He seems 
so modest, that every one seems eager to prove to him the 
merit of which he appears unconscious. I wish you had seen 
him last evening. Mrs. Nicholas was here, and half a dozen 
gentlemen. She was ambitious to recite before Bryant. She 
was very becomingly dressed for the grand ball to which she 
was going ; and, wrought up to her highest pitch of excite- 
ment, she recited her favourite pieces better than I ever heard 
her, and concluded the whole, without request or any note of 
preparation, by ' The Waterfowl ' and ' Thanatopsis.' Bryant's 
face ' brightened all over,' — was one gleam of light ; and, I am 
certain, at the moment he felt the ecstasy of a poet." 

The " prospects " here referred to were the abandon- 
ment of law, and the adoption of literature as a pro- 
fession. 

From the first, as we have seen, Bryant was averse to 



94 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

the profession of law, which circumstances had forced 
upon him. As his dislike continued to grow, the wish 
for more congenial occupation, which would at the same 
time enable him to meet home obligations and respon- 
sibilities — he having given hostages to fortune — was 
great, and this visit, demonstrating the strong likelihood 
of a suitable opening being soon made for him, so to 
speak, settled his destiny. 

In the winter of 1824-25, his friends wrote that an 
editorship had actually been procured for him; so, re- 
quiring no further persuasion to accept of such an induce- 
ment, he joyfully handed over his briefs to a brother 
barrister, wound up his affairs, and, at once prepared to 
leave Berkshire for New York City, early in 1825. 

At Great Barrington, from his well-known uprightness 
and ability, he had, for nine years, enjoyed a fair measure 
of success as a lawyer. 

Of this change, from law to literature, John Bigelow, 
in his address before the Century Club, on November 12, 
1878, said: — "An impression has prevailed that Bryant 
quitted the profession of the law, doubting his fitness to 
succeed in it. . . . I shall take the liberty of saying 
that I do not share this opinion. ... He had a 
prodigious power of acquiring knowledge, which made 
him one of the most accomplished men of his age; a mind 
singularly clear and difficult to sophisticate; habits of 
industry which would appal most men who think them- 
selves industrious, and a devotion to duty and a fidelity 
to engagements which would have inspired the unlimited 
confidence of courts, juries, and clients. All these qualities 
are too rarely united in any person to leave a doubt that 
they would have given Bryant a relative eminence at the 
bar, as incontestable as that which he was destined to 
obtain in literature." 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 95 

Dr. Eay Palmer positively states that "he steadily 
rose in his practice as a lawyer in the courts of the country, 
and promised to attain a high position." 

The Eev. Jahu De Witt Miller also writes, in July, 
1878, from Cross Eiver, State of New York:— "I have 
frequently been asked why Mr. Bryant left the law. Not 
the least influential among the reasons which prompted 
him to transfer his allegiance to literature was the trial 
of the cause of Bloss v. Tobey. Tobey said that Bloss 
had 'burned his own store. There is no doubt in my 
mind that he burned his own store. He would not have 
got his goods insured if he had not meant to burn it.' 
Bloss thereupon sued Tobey for slander, and retained 
Bryant. The case was tried, and the jury awarded five 
hundred dollars damages. Tobey's counsel moved the 
Supreme Court; for an arrest of judgment, because the 
w^ords were not (since it was not an offence for a man to 
burn his own store) in themselves slanderous. The court 
decided, Chief-justice Parsons reading the opinion, that 
simply to burn one's own store is not unlawful when no 
injury is done or intended to be done to any other per- 
son. The court reasoned — that, if Tobey had said that 
Bloss burnt his own store with the intention of getting 
the insurance on the goods, such words, since they would 
have charged him with a criminal offence, would have 
been slanderous. Judgment was, therefore, set aside! 
Only a month ago Mr. Bryant, referring to the case, said, 
' By a piece of pure chicane, in a case the merits of which 
were with my client, and were perfectly understood by 
the parties, the court, the jury, and everybody who heard 
the trial, or heard of it, my client was turned out of court 
after the jury had awarded him damages and deprived of 
what they intended he should receive.' This, as may be 
imagined, did not much heighten his respect for the law." 



yt) LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C, BRYANT. 

There is also a tradition at the local bar, that he had 
some difference with one of the opposing counsel about 
the cost of a suit, on which occasion the restrained fire of 
the poet's temperament, quickened by righteous indigna- 
tion, blazed fiercely forth, uttering what was only too 
true to be palatable either to court or counsel. " To his 
indignant mind," says Curtis, " the law probably seemed, 
despite Coke's famous words, the perfection of unreason;" 
and, if many sensible people, who are merely outside 
onlookers, have come to be pretty much of Bryant's way 
of thinking, how must the law's constricting serpent-coils 
be regarded by those who, unfortunately, are the out- 
raged victims of its chicanery; and who have been robbed 
and ruined, either in accordance with, or in direct viola- 
tion of, some of its many slimy Protean forms! 

The slight thread that had held the poet to law was now 
broken; "Bryant had tried his last case. He left Berk- 
shire, but while its Monument Mountain stands, and its 
Green Eiver flows, Berkshire will claim their poet as her 
own. One of the last of the Berkshire poems was that 
on 'June,' which was first published in the year after he 
left Great Barrington, the poet's farewell to 

^ The glorious sky 
And the green mountains round :' 

the farevfell, whose pensive and airy music was in all 
hearts and on all lips when he died, as he had fancifully 
wished, in June." 

JUNE. 

I gazed upon the glorious sky 

And the green mountains round, 
And thought that when I came to lie 

At rest within the ground. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 07 

'Twcrc pleasant, that in flowery June, 
When brooks send up a cheerful tune, 

And groves a joyous sound, 
The sexton's hand, my grave to make, 
The rich, green mountain-turf should break. 

A cell within the frozen mould, 

A coffin borne through sleet, 
And icy clods above it rolled. 

While fierce the tempests beat— 
Aw^ay ! — I will not think of these — 
Blue be the sky and soft the breeze. 

Earth green beneath the feet, 
And be the damp mould gently pressed 
Into my narrow place of rest. 

There through the long, long summer hours. 

The golden light should lie, 
And thick young herbs and groups of flowers 

Stand in their beauty by. 
The oriole should build and tell 
His love-tale close beside my cell; 

The idle butterfly 
Should rest him there, and there be heard 
The housewife bee and humming-bird. 

And what if cheerful shouts at noon 

Come, from the village sent, 
Or songs of maids, beneath the moon 

With fairy laughter blent? 
And what if, in the evening light, 
Betrothed lovers walk in sight 

Of my low monument] 
I would the lovely scene around 
Might know no sadder sight nor sound. 

I know that I no more should see 

The season's glorious show, 
Nor would its brightness shine for mo, 

Nor its wild music flow ; 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

But if, around my place of sleep, 

The friends I love should come to weep, 

They might not haste to go. 
Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloora 
Should keep them lingering by my tomb. 

These to their softened hearts should bear 
The thought of what has been, 

And speak of one who cannot share 
The gladness of the scene ; 

Whose part, in all the pomp that fills 

The circuit of the summer hills, 
Is that his grave is green; 

And deeply would their hearts rejoice 

To hear aojain his livinof voice. 



CHAPTER VI. 

1825-1830: Literary Associates and Society in New York — 
Magazine Editing— Takes to Journalism. 

Settles in New York— Edits a Monthly Magazine— His Literary Associates- 
Dana— The Death of the Flowers — Sedgwick's Home — The Sketch 
Club— Lectures at the National Academy of Design— Magazine Ventures 
Unsuccessful— Takes to Journalism— Assistant Editor of Evening Post— 
His Literary Status Recognized — The Talisman — On Coleman's Death 
he becomes Editor of the Evening Post— 'Engages Leggett as Assistant. 

Bryant, in 1825, removed to New York, which city con- 
tinued to be his head-quarters for more than half a century. 
*'Here he lived," says General James Grant Wilson, "from 
earliest youth to venerable age — from thirty-one to eighty- 
four — in one path of honour and success." 

He at once entered on his duties as the co-editor of a 
monthly publication, The New York Revieiv and Athenceum 
Magazine, his coadjutor being Henry J. Anderson, after- 
wards professor of mathematics in Columbia College. 

This opening had been got for him by Sedgwick, with 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 99 

tlic aid of Vcrplanck, and in the new literary enterprise 
the editors were well supported by the literary contribu- 
tions of Willis, Dana, Bancroft, and Halleck. The very 
first number contained several notable poems, such as the 
well-known "Marco Bozzaris" of Halleck, signed simply 
with the letter H., of which the editor said: — "It would 
be an act of gross injustice to the author of the above 
magnificent lyric were we to withhold the expression of 
our admiration of its extraordinary beauty. We are 
sure, too, that in this instance, at least, we have done 
what is rare in the annals of criticism — we have given an 
opinion from which no one of our readers will feel any 
inclination to dissent." And, Bryant's own " Song of Pit- 
cairn's Island;" which a contemporary journalist styled 
" one of the sweetest pictures that a highly cultivated 
fancy ever drew." 

It also (1825) contained Dana's earliest poem, "The 
Dying Raven," written at the age of thirty-eight, and 
signed with an anonymous "Y." Thus, in regard to 
Bryant, although Dana was the older man (born 1787 — 
died 1879), he was the younger poet. 

Among other poems and numerous prose articles on 
art and kindred subjects, Bryant contributed to the pages 
of the New York Revieio that pensive autumn dirge, 
"The Death of the Flowers," which is familiar to all 
readers of good poetry. In it he has embalmed the 
memory of his sister, in a poem as felicitous in conception 
as it is exquisitely sweet and musical in expression. 



THE DEATH OF THE FLOWEES. 

Tlie melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, 

Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and 

sere. 
Hcap'd in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; 



100 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread; 
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, 
And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy 
day. 

Where are the flowers, the fair young flov/ers, that lately 

sprang and stood 
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? 
Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers 
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. 
The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold JSTovember rain 
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. 

The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, 
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; 
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood. 
And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood. 
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague 

on men. 
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, 

glade, and glen. 

And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days 

will come. 
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; 
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the 

trees are still, 
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill. 
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late 

he bore. 
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. 

And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, 
The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. 
In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf. 
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief : 
Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours, 
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. 

The late Bayard Taylor, in alluding to this early 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C, BUYANT. 101 

period of American literature, said: — "Dana, Halleck, 
and Bryant rose together on steadier wings, and gave 
voices to the solitude : Dana with a broad, grave under- 
tone, like that of the sea; Bryant with a sound as of the 
wind in summer woods and the fall of waters in moun- 
tain dells; and Halleck v/ith strains blown from a silver 
trumpet, breathing manly fire and courage. Many voices 
have followed them, but we shall not forget the fore- 
runners who rose in advance of their welcome, and 
created their own audience by their songs." 

"His new position," says General James Grant Wilson, 
"soon introduced Bryant into a very charming circle, com- 
posed of Chancellor Kent; Cooper, just achieving popular- 
ity by his American novels; the young poets Halleck, Hill- 
house, and Percival; the painters Dunlap, Durand, Inman, 
and Morse; the scholars Charles King and Verplanck, and 
many other choice spirits, all long since passed away. 

"A few days after the poet's arrival in New York he 
met Cooper, to whom he had been previously introduced, 
who said: — 

" 'Come and dine with me to-morrov/; I live at No, 
345 Greenwich Street.' 

" 'Please put that down for me,' said Bryant, 'or I 
shall forget the place.' 

" 'Can't you remember three-four-five 1 ' replied Cooper, 
bluntly. 

"Bryant did 'remember three-four-five,' not only for 
the day, but ever afterward. He dined with the novelist 
according to appointment, the additional guest, besides 
Cooper's immediate family, being Fitz-Greene Halleck. 
The warm friendship of these three gifted men was 
severed only by death." 

The house of his friend Sedgwick, whose sister Cather- 
ine was already famous, was the resort of authors and of 



102 LIFE SKETCH OP WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

all literary strangers. In a humble and unassuming way, 
it was the Holland House of New York. 

In 1825, the year of Bryant's arrival in NeAV York, the 
Sketch Club was formed and the National Academy of 
Design was founded. Bryant's love of art led him to 
lend a helping hand in such ways as were open to him; 
and, in aid of the Academy, he delivered a course of lec- 
tures on Greek and Eoman Mythology, — subjects with 
which he was thoroughly conversant. 

In striking contrast to law-drudgery at Great Barring- 
ton, such was the congenial society in which Bryant now 
moved. But, with prudent forethought, as a precautionary 
measure, on reaching the city in 1825, he procured his 
admission to the New York Bar; so that if literary pro- 
jects had failed, he would have had something which he 
already knew and could do, to fall back upon. However 
unpleasant and arduous the way, if duty had called, he 
would have been prepared to follow, in order to achieve 
what Burns calls the glorious privilege of being inde- 
pendent. Fortunately, he did not require to resume 
legal practice. His first literary venture, however, did 
not succeed, so that Bryant and his associates did not 
long continue their labours for it. Such high-class 
literature was for the few, and these as yet were not 
numerous enough to render the Review financially re- 
munerative. The day for such a magazine had not 
arrived, and so, from being too good, the project failed. 
The Review, in its dire struggle for existence, passed 
through the following vicissitudes: in March, 1826, it 
was joined to the Literary Gazette, bearing the joint name, 
The Neio York Literary Gazette and American Athenceum; 
in July of the same year, losing its name, it v/as merged 
in the United States Literary Gazette; and, in September, 
after a two months' existence, that name, in turn, became 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 103 

tlio United States Bevietv, to appear simultaneously in 
New York and Boston; but, after undergoing so many 
changes, it only lived one year. 

Bryant had, in 1825, been temporarily employed on 
The Evening Post, and, in 1826, when the New York 
Revicio was discontinued, through Verplanck's influence, 
he became permanently connected with that paper with 
which his name is so closely associated. In the first 
instance he was assistant editor to "William Coleman, 
who, like himself, was a lawyer from Massachusetts, and 
had founded the paper in 1801. 

"It was," Hudson tells us, "in the columns of The 
Post that the celebrated humorous odes known as the 
'Croaker Pieces' had appeared, in 1819. They were 
written by Joseph Rodman Drake. One afternoon 
about this time, there was a group of young men 
standing in the vicinity of the Park in New York, 
just after a shower, admiring a magnificent rainbow. 
' If I could have my wish,' said one, ' it would be to lie 
in the lap of that rainbow and read Tom Campbell.' 
Immediately another of the group stepped forward and 
exclaimed, ' You and I must be acquainted ! my name is 
Drake.' — 'My name,' said the other, 'is Fitz-Greene 
Halleck.' Then and there Croaker took in a partner in 
the production of those popular satirical odes, and the 
firm became publicly known as 'Croaker & Co.' They 
created a great deal of amusement, and were much 
sought after, largely increasing the circulation of the 
paper." 

Although the onerous duties of a daily paper absorbed 
much of Bryant's time and energy, he, in conjunction 
with Charles Folsom of Cambridge, continued to edit the 
United States Eevieiv till it ceased 'to exist, and to contri- 
bute poems and articles to it, and to other periodical pub- 



104 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C, BRYANT. 

lications. Henceforth, he devoted himself to journalism 
as a profession. 

To the Evening Post, Bryant brought literary experience, 
solid learning, refined taste, and, even then, the prestige 
of a well-earned reputation. 

His status at this period was justly and generously 
recognized by his brother bard and friend, Fitz-Greene 
Halleck, who, in The Recorder, thus wrote : — 

" Bryant, whose songs are thoughts that bless 

The heart — its teachers and its joy, 
As mothers blend with their caress 
Lessons of truth and gentleness. 

And virtue for the Hstening boy. 
Spring's lovelier flowers for many a day 
Have blossomed on his wandering way ; 
Beings of beauty and decay. 

They slumber in their autumn tomb ; 
But those that graced his own Green Eiver 

And wreathed the lattice of his home, 

Charmed by his song from mortal doom, 
Bloom on, and will bloom on for ever." 

From 1827 to 1830 Bryant was associated with Ver- 
planck and Robert C. Sands in editing a very successful 
annual, called The Talisman, the three volumes of which 
were afterwards issued under the title of Miscellanies. 
Bryant's prose contributions to The Talisman were, " An 
Adventure in the East Indies," "The Cascade of Mel- 
singah," " Recollections of the South of Spain," " A Story 
of the Island of Cuba," "The Indian Spring," "The 
Whirlwind," "Phanette des Gaulemes," and "The 
Marriage Blunder." On Coleman's death, in 1829, 
Bryant assumed the entire editorial control of the Even- 
ing Post, and shortly afterwards engaging William Leggett 
as assistant editor, he put him in training, as to the policy 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 105 

which ho wished inculcated, with the intention of after- 
wards leaving the paper in his hands, while he himself 
should pay a lengthened visit, of several years, to Europe, 
with his wife and family. 



CHAPTER VII. 

1826-1878: Editoeial Caeeeb. 

Joins the Evening Post— Aims at reforming Journalism— Early Press o! North 
America— American Newspaper Enterprise— William Leggett— Bryant's 
Tribute to his Memory— Bryant a Prudent and Industrious Man of 
Business— Editorial Career sketched by Wilson, Bigelow, and others- 
Bryant's own Idea of a Newspaper— His Course as a Politician— Our 
Country's Call — Kindly and Charitable — Friendly Relationship to his 
Staff— A Challenge is sent him— Correct Language and Literary Style— 
His o^vn Practice in Writing Editorials— Two Lives as Editor and Poet- 
Influence as a Man and a Journalist— Acquires Competence and Fortune. 

The Neiu ForJc Review which Bryant edited, and other 
purely literary enterprises, for the reasons we have stated, 
did not find sufficient support; so, in 1826, when he was 
thirty-two years of age, as associate editor of the Evening 
Post under William Coleman, he betook himself to jour- 
nalism, which henceforth became the profession of his life. 

It was the first jubilee year of American Independence. 
"John Quincy Adams," says Curtis, "was President, a 
man of unsullied character, of great ability, of resolute 
independence, superior to party trick or personal in- 
trigue; a civilian, of will as indomitable as that of his 
military successor, a President — and such may our 
Presidents always be ! — who believed, that he serves his 
party best who serves his country most. This was the 
fortunate epoch, and this the happy country, of 1826." 

Bryant, during his three years of sub-editorship, learned 
little from Coleman, who was prosy, crotchety, and per- 



IOC LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

verse; but he gained an insight into the requirements of 
a newspaper, and seeing the many serious defects of the 
press of that day, he made up his mind to try to rectify 
them, and so raise the moral and literary tone of journal- 
ism, and make it the powerful and important factor in 
the state which it has since become. This service he 
felt to be his mission, and resolved to perform. 

On Coleman's death, in 1829, he assumed the sole 
editorial control, and, at length, had full scope for in- 
augurating his reforms. 

To Massachusetts belongs the honour of establishing, 
at Cambridge, the first printing-press in North America, 
in 1639, nineteen years after the landing of the Pilgrim 
Fathers, and nearly half a century in advance of any other 
press in the colonies. 

The first newspaper in America, the Colonial Press, 
appeared in Boston in 1690. It was followed by the 
Boston News Letter in 1704, which continued in existence 
till 1776. The New York Gazette, started on October 23, 
1725, was the first newspaper issued in that city. 
Benjamin Franklin, when a printer's apprentice, assisted 
and, for a time, when only sixteen years of age, edited and 
published his brother James's paper. The New England 
Courant, which was established on August 7, 1721, and 
which was the fifth newspaper started in America. In 
the year 1728, Franklin successfully started the Pennsyl- 
vania Gazette on his own account. In 1731 the South 
Carolina Gazette was issued, the first in that province; it 
was printed at Charleston. >>' In 1733, the New York 
WeeUy Journal, an important political organ, was started 
in New York. The editor, Zenger, was tried for libel, 
the first prosecution of the kind in America, but acquitted; 
while his advocate, Andrew Hamilton, was feted and 
honoured for " the remarkable service done by him to the 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 107 

city and colony by Iiis learned and generous defence of 
the rights of mankind and the liberty of the press." The 
Da'dij Advertiser^ started at Philadelphia in 1784, v/as the 
first daily paper in the States. Such were the beginnings 
of journalism in America, since developed so largely, that 
the United States has become more prolific of newspapers, 
and newspaper enterprise, than any other country. 

Between Great Britain, its Colonies, and the United 
States, the newspapers published in the English language 
are largely in excess of those published in all other 
languages put together. In 1874 there were printed, in 
round numbers, — 

In the English language, . . . 7500 
In all other languages, . . . 6600 

English over foreign periodicals, . 900 

The returns, since 1870, show the relative position of 
the United States to the rest of the world in periodical 
literature to be as follows : — 

Periodicals published outside the U.S., . . 8250 
Periodicals published in the U.S., . . . 6500 

Against the U.S., 1750 

Although no American paper has at>tained to the circu- 
lation of the London Telegraph (160,000), the New York 
Herald has at times come near it; and, from the large 
circulation of many leading American papers, " it is safe 
to say that the number of copies annually printed in the 
United States is fully equal to those annually issued in 
all the other nations of the world." 

In the words of Frederic Hudson : — " There is no 
danger too great, no expedition too remote, too costly, or 
too extensive, no undertaking too vast, for the American 
8 



108 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

journalist. If it be to the heart of Africa, or to Khiva^ 
or to the North Pole, or in the thickest of the battle in 
the rebellion, in Cuba, in Spain, in Asia, or in Germany, 
correspondents are sure to be present preparing history 
for all time to come; and now, these journalistic deeds 
of daring are rewarded by the Iron Cross from the 
Emperor of Germany, the gold medal from the Royal 
Geographical Society of England, the order of St. Stani- 
laus from the Czar of Russia, and larger cheques on the 
bankers of the newspaper j)roprietors." 

The great advances made in recent journalism may 
be seen, by comparing copies of the same journal — the 
Evening Post — for 1825, and 1878: — "In the earlier 
numbers we find news from Albany regarding the session 
of the Legislature, printed five days after the transactions 
recorded; extracts from English newspapers nearly a 
month old; despatches from different points in the 
United States dated a fortnight earlier than the paper; 
advertisements of cock-fights; and the time-tables of rapid 
stage-lines to Philadelphia, Boston, and the West. Bryant 
lived to see the invention of the electric telegraph, the 
wedding of the continents by submarine cables, and the or- 
ganization of the Associated Press." Bryant's appreciation 
of this progress he more than once expressed in his own 
felicitous way. His speech at the dinner given to Samuel 
F. B. Morse, in 1868, is a vivid presentation of some of 
these marvellous changes: — "Charles Lamb, in one of 
his papers, remarks that a piece of news, which, when it 
left Botany Bay, was true to the letter, often becomes a 
lie before it reaches England. It is the advantage of the 
telegraph, that it gives you the news before circumstances 
have had time to alter it. The press is enabled to lay 
it fresh before the reader. It comes to him like a steak 
hot from the gridiron, instead of being cooled and made 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 109 

flavourless by a slow journey from a distant kitchen. A 
battle is fought three thousand miles away, and we have 
the news while they are taking the wounded to the 
hospital. A great orator rises in the British Parliament, 
and we read his words almost before the cheers of his 
friends have ceased. An earthquake shakes San Francisco, 
and we have the news before the people who have rushed 
into the street have returned to their houses. . . . 
In the ' Treatise on Bathos,' Pope quotes, as a sample of 
absurdity not to be surpassed, a passage from some play, 
I think one of Nat Lee's, expressing the modest wish of 
a lover: — 

* Ye gods, annihilate both space and time, 
And make two lovers happy .'^ 

But see what changes a century brings forth ! What was 
then an absurdity, what was arrant nonsense, is now the 
statement of a naked fact. Our guest has annihilated 
both space and time in the transmission of intelligence. 
The breadth of the Atlantic, with all its waves, is as 
nothing; and, in sending a message from Europe to this 
continent, the time, as computed by the clock, is some 
six hours less than nothing." 

Shortly after entering on his duties as editor of the 
Evening Post he engaged as assistant William Leggett, a 
young man of considerable energy, courage, and ability, 
but apt to be indiscreetly aggressive in the advocacy of 
anything that awakened his interest, and regardless of 
the opinions of others. He had just failed in the manage- 
ment of The Critic, a weekly paper, which lived for 
six months; and, subsequently, when Bryant was in 
Europe, he had, in such v^ays, seriously damaged the 
Evening Post. He also offended many supporters of the 
paper, by refusing to admit the coarse illustrations which 



110 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

were then commpn in the advertisement columns of most 
papers. Leggett, judging that they were in bad taste and 
spoiled the appearance of his sheet, gave peremptory- 
orders to exclude them, and his resolution once taken 
was as irrevocable as the laws of the Medes and Per- 
sians. 

Leggett gave his own idea of a journalist as follows — in 
speaking of Andrew Fletcher of Saltoun:-— "A gentleman 
steady in his principles; of nice honour; abundance of 
learning; brave as the sword he wears, and bold as a lion; 
a sure friend and an irreconcilable enemy; who would 
lose his life readily to serve his country, and would not 
do a base thing to save it." Those who knew him well, 
believed that he nearly realized his own conception of 
what an editor should be; but they, at the same time, felt 
that "this is hardly a world for such an editor." 

Leggett was for ten years connected with the Evening 
Post J but left it, in 1836, to establish The Plain Dealer, 
after the failure of which, he received a consular appoint- 
ment from President Van Buren. 

Bryant speaks of him as studious and courageous 
almost to excess, adding: — "He took a sort of pleasure 
in bearding public opinion. He wrote with surprising 
fluency, and often with eloquence; took broad views of 
the questions that came before him; and possessed the 
faculty of rapidly arranging the arguments which occurred 
to him, in clear order, and stating them persuasively." 
On Leggett's death in 1839, Bryant paid a glowing tri- 
bute to his memory, in which occur the following lines : — 

" The words of fire that from his pen 
"Were flung upon the fervid page, 
Still move, still shake the hearts of men, 
Amid a cold and coward ag-e. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. Ill 

His love of truth, too warm, too strong 
For Hope or Fear to chain or chilly 

His hate of tyranny and wrong, 

Burn in the breasts he kindled, still." 

Mcany editions of Bryant's poetical works appeared, 
from which he must have derived a considerable amount 
of copyright; but he knew that poetry would not yield 
him bread, and on one occasion remarked to his friend 
General James Grant Wilson: — "I should have starved 
^if I had been obliged to depend upon my poetry for a 
living." So he adopted journalism, because he found 
that, while enabling him to provide for the wants of his 
family, he, shy and retiring as he was, could in that way 
best influence the movements of his age, and benefit his 
country. 

As a newspaper editor and proprietor, Bryant the poet 
was a thorough, industrious, and successful man of busi- 
ness — one who regarded thrift as a virtue, in order that 
he might afford to be liberal. He defined " prudence " as 
"wisdom applied to the ordinary affairs of life." In one 
of his orations he declared that it " includes forecast, one 
of the highest operations of the intellect, and the due 
adjustment of means to ends, without which a man is 
useless to himself and to society, except as a blunderer 
by whose example others may be warned." 

"In all details he was a strict economist, and made 
economy the rule of the establishment by his example 
rather than by precepts. Nearly all his editorials were 
written upon the backs of old letters, Avhich a less con- 
scientious man would have been ashamed to use. His 
time was carefully economized; and, though he had his 
hours of relaxation and literary diversion, no fragment 
of time was wasted. Even his amusements were parts 
of a comprehensive system." 



112 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Although Bryant was a politician in the highest sense 
of the term, an editoral associate has said of him : — " For 
every low phase of politics — the struggle for office, the 
methods of party managers, or the demagogic arguments 
of place-hunters — he had the heartiest contempt." 

Bryant's editorial career has been sketched by com- 
petent hands. 

General James Grant Wilson writes: — "TAe Evening 
Post was founded by William Coleman, a lawyer of 
Massachusetts, its first number being issued on the 16th^ 
of November, 1801. Mr. Coleman dying in 1826, the 
well-remembered William Leggett became its assistant 
editor, in which capacity he continued for ten years. Mr. 
Bryant soon after his return from Europe in 1836, upon 
the retirement of Mr. Leggett, assumed the sole editorial 
charge of the paper, performing those duties, with inter- 
vals of absence, till the 29th day of May, 1878, when he 
sat at his desk for the last time. To the Post, originally 
a Federal journal, Mr. Bryant early gave a strongly 
Democratic tone, taking decided ground against all class 
legislation, and strongly advocating freedom of trade. 
When his party at a later day passed under the yoke of 
slavery, the poet followed his principles out of the party, 
becoming, before the war, a strong Republican. In its 
management he was for a long time assisted by his son- 
in-law, Parke Godwin, and John Bigelow, late United 
States minister to France. Besides these able coadjutors, 
the Post has had the benefit of many eminent writers of 
prose and verse. ... At the expiration of the Post's 
first half century, Mr. Bryant prepared a history of the 
veteran journal, in which his versatile pen and well-stored 
mind had ample range and material, in men and incidents, 
to do justice to the very interesting and eventful period 
through which the paper had passed." 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. ERYANT. 113 

A contemporary — the BrooUyn Daily Times — has well 
said : — " For fifty years he stood at the head of a daily 
newspaper published in the city of New York — a half 
century most momentous in the history of the United 
States, and passed in active aggressive work in the very 
centre of political, intellectual, and material activity — 
and during all that time not only has no stain rested 
upon his character, but he has stood in our midst as a 
conspicuous example of all that is admirable in journal- 
ism, in politics, and in private life. 

"In an era of bitter rivalries, of iierce personalities, 
and ruthless partisanship, he set a conspicuous example, 
at once of dignity and independence, teaching his con- 
temporaries how wrongs might be redressed, and great 
principles asserted, without intolerance or the cruel viola- 
tion of the sanctity of private life. 

"A service akin to that which he rendered to literature 
in general, he performed in a peculiar degree in the arena 
of political journalism; and if our newspapers have risen 
above the level on which they stood when Dickens and 
Trollope held them up to the laughter and scorn of 
Europe, it is because they have been wise enough to 
profit by the lesson set by AVilliam Cullen Bryant." 

John Bigelow, in his address before the Century Club, 
said : — " From this time forth, and until the close of his 
long life, a period of fifty-two years, Mr. Bryant continued 
in the editorship of the Evening Post. 

"He never engaged in any other business enterprise; 
he never embarked in any financial speculations; he was 
never an officer of any other financial or industrial cor- 
poration, nor did he ever accept any political office or 
trust. He had found an emplojanent at last that was 
entirely congenial to him, and one which most fully 
economized his temperament and faculties for the public 



114 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

service. And he was as loyal to his profession as it was 
to him. 

"I think it quite safe to say that for five days out of every 
week, during at least forty-two of his fifty-two years of edi- 
torial service, Mr. Bryant Avas at his editorial desk before 
eight o'clock in the morning, and left the daily impress of 
his character and genius in some form upon the columns 
of his journal. When the length of his career as editor is 
considered, it may be assumed that Mr. Bryant was one 
of the most voluminous prose writers that ever lived, and 
to this audience I need hardly add, one of the best. It 
would be difficult to name a single topic of national im- 
portance or which has occupied any considerable share of 
public attention during the last half century upon which 
Bryant did not find occasion to form and publish an 
opinion — an opinion too which always commanded the 
respect, if not the adhesion, of his readers. 

"Though journalism is a comparatively modern pro- 
fession it is already divided into schools, two of which 
are well defined. 

" One aims to daguerreotj^pe the events and humours of 
the day, whatever they may be; the other, to direct and 
shape those events and humours to special standards. One 
is merely a reflector of what passes across its field; the 
other, a lens converging the news of the day like the rays 
of light in specific directions. One is the school of the 
real, and the other of the ideal. A journal of the former 
class — of which the London Times and the New York 
Herald are perhaps the most distinguished specimens to- 
day — is essentially an ephemeron. Each day's publication 
is complete, having no necessary dependence upon any 
publication preceding or to follow it. It is simply the 
living body of that portion of time which has elapsed 
since its previous issue. It masquerades with its readers 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT, 115 

in the idolatry or passion of to-day, and to-morrow, per- 
haps, with them it clothes itself in the sackcloth and 
ashes of repentance. The other school aims to control 
and direct society; to teach and to lead it; to tell, not so 
much what it has been doing as what it ought to do, or to 
have done. As such it must be consistent with itself, 
and teach its doctrines, in their purity, irrespective of the 
fluctuations of public opinion. — "It was to the latter 
school of journalism that Mr. Bryant belonged. The 
amelioration of society was the warp with which he was 
always striving to interweave the woof of current events. 

" I will not undertake to say which of these two schools 
of journalism is the more useful. Both are useful; neither 
can be spared; but they invite very different orders of 
mind and a very difherent range of accomplishments." 

Bryant certainly regarded a newspaper as a moral 
force which might mould opinion, shaping, elevating, 
and preparing the public mind for right measures, as 
well as giving it early and reliable information. There- 
fore he conceived it to be an editor's duty to judge and 
treat of the bearing of current events, and conscientiously, 
up to the light within him, to " interpret their meaning, 
for the benefit of society and the state." And nobly did 
Bryant, during his whole career, endeavour to carry out 
this idea ! " He used the newspaper, conscientiously, to 
advocate views of political and social subjects which ho 
believed to be correct." 

" In connection with his economic and political teach- 
ing, Bryant strove to make the Post an educational 
power among its readers, by diffusing scientific and 
practical information, and by stimulating the public mind 
to the enjoyment of literature and art. The public 
health was ever dear to him, and he was interested in 
every sanitary improvement." 



116 LIFE BKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

"During the period embraced in his editorial career 
the most important questions which the republic has had 
to decide since its birth came up for discussion. He saw 
slavery contending for an extension of power and territory, 
succeeding for a time and then overwhelmed in final 
disaster. He witnessed the struggles over the United 
States Bank, took part in the defence of the sub-treasury 
scheme, and, when the war imposed upon the country an 
irredeemable paper currency, he assisted in the still un- 
finished eff'ort to secure a return to the system which the 
founders of the Eepublic so wisely believed to be the 
best for the nation. He early discovered the evils of a 
protective tariff system, and for no cause did he labour 
more zealously and constantly than for that of striking 
from our foreign trade the shackles which still embarrass 
it. During his editorial career he v/as called upon to 
criticise the administrations of Presidents Jackson, Van 
Buren, Harrison, Tyler, Polk, Taylor, Fillmore, Pierce, 
Buchanan, Lincoln, Grant, and Hayes. This bare state- 
ment is sufficient to show the wide extent of the subjects 
which cam 3 under his notice." 

Through many conflicting measures, amid national 
changes of policy, Bryant steered his way " right onward," 
guided ever by the love of truth and patriotism. 

It is apart from our purpose here, further to enter upon 
the history, or follow the course of American politics. 
Sufiice it to say, that Bryant systematically opposed what 
he believed to be wrong, and supported those measures 
which he believed to be right, quite independently of 
party, and ever recommended what he believed to be for 
the good of his country. 

His deep-grounded and comforting belief, giving the 
key to his high political aspiration, is embodied in his 
well-known lines : — 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 117 

" Truth crushed to earth shall rise again ; 
The eternal years of God are liers : 
But Error, wounded, writhes with paiu 
And dies among her worshippers." 

Thus, although the ship of state frequently changed 
her course, he, like the needle true to the pole, remained 
unchanged, and was, in turn, claimed by all parties. 
" He had been a Federalist, a Democrat, and a Republican; 
but all were only names of the various uniforms in which 
he served the same cause, the cause of his youth and of 
his age — the cause of America, and of human nature." 

He advocated "liberty, not license," and, even in earlier 
democratic days, Bryant had no liking whatever for mob- 
law, but was truly and wisely conservative. 

When the North selfishly imposed restrictive tariffs on 
the South, he unhesitatingly opposed that policy. Indeed, 
for half a century he consistently advocated free trade; and 
this, at a time when all other journals in the Free States 
were opposed to it, and he had to fight the battle single- 
handed. Yet when the South wished unconstitutionally 
to resist these imposts, he, holding firmly by the Union, 
told them, as decidedly, that such a mode of redress was 
wrong. 

Then, again, when the South was bent on extending 
and perpetuating slavery, and abolitionists, in order to 
restrict and eradicate it, were urging coercive measures, 
which he thought would imperil the constitution, he, in 
the spring of 1856, condemned the policy of the South, 
and contended for the right of free discussion in the 
North. 

He had formed very distinctly pronounced views on 
the subject, but had diligently schooled his naturally fiery 
nature into judicial calmness, in order to retain his influ- 
ence for good, at the time when it should most be needed. 



118 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

In consequence of this partial reserve, he was sometimes 
slightly misunderstood, and thought cool in the good cause, 
by a few of the more outspoken anti-slavery advocates who 
did not know him. Bryant had himself gone south, and, 
there, seen much with his own eyes. He forgot nothing, 
and consequently knew the reality of that cruel, degrading, 
and accursed system, which was, in truth, "the sum of 
all villainies." "In his letters from the Southern States 
and the West Indies, as late as 1849, there is a photo- 
graphic fidelity of detail in descriptions of slavery and of 
the slaves, but they are the pictures of a seemingly 
passionless observer. There is no apparent sense of 
wrong, no flaming indignation, no denunciation; an 
occasional impulsive expression only shows his feelings. 
This restraint and moderation, however, always so charac- 
teristic, are most impressive, and give to his prose, 
whether in letters, or addresses, or editorial articles, how- 
ever strong the public feeling or hot the debate, the 
weight and value which so often exhale in greater fervour 
of expression. But the breath of the tropics did not 
relax his moral fibre. The loiterer at the negro corn- 
shucking in Carolina and in the orange groves of Florida, 
the tranquil stranger in the Cuban coffee estates and the 
sugar plantations of Mantanzas, who observed everything 
and quietly asked a traveller's questions, was not untrue 
to the spirit that he had inhaled with his native breath 
among the northern hills. Through all the great slavery 
contest from 1820 to 1861, which included the prime of 
his manhood, Bryant's course was determined by his own 
love of liberty and justice, by his temperament and con- 
science." 

He had hoped against hope that " the domestic insti- 
tution" would, on the grounds of humanity, and even 
from motives of economy and self-interest, have been got 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 119 

quit of without bloodshed; but when the crisis at length 
Ccame, which he had long foreseen must come in one form 
or another, he was whole-heartedly with the North. In 
the preservation of the Union, at any cost of blood or 
treasure, he clearly read the doom of slavery. The 
solution presented itself through war-clouds, and he 
accepted it. 

In 1862, he penned a patriotic appeal, which, like the 
sound of a trumpet, roused thousands to join the ranks. 
It was called " Our Country's Call; " we give the first and 
the last verses : — 

OUR COUNTRY'S CALL. 

Lay down the axe ; fling by the spado ; 

Leave in its track the toiling plough ; 
The rifle and the bayonet blade 

For arms like yours were fitter now ; 
And let the hands that ply the pen 

Quit the light task, and learn to wield 
The horseman's crooked brand, and rein 

The charger on the battle-field. 

Few, few were they whose sword of old 

Won the fair land in which we dwell ; 
But we are many, we who hold 

The grim resolve to guard it well. 
Strike, for that broad and goodly land, 

Blow after blow, till men shall see 
That Might and Right move hand in hand, 

And glorious must their triumph be ! 

Bryant w^as full of charity, and his condemnations 
were of measures — not men. 

" It is a curious fact," says an editorial associate, 
*' that in recalling these conversations, guided as they 



120 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

always were by the circumstances of the moment, and 
spontaneous as his utterances were, I cannot recall a 
single instance in which Mr. Bryant said a harsh, or even 
a mildly condemnatory thing of any human being. He 
was vigorous in his condemnation of unworthy things, 
unworthy acts, and unworthy principles of action; but 
nothing that he ever said in my presence indicated his 
dislike for any man, although I have heard him talk of 
men whom he must have detested, unless he was free 
from the otherwise universal human tendency to detest 
the man who does detestable acts." 

Not only in the political arena was he always patriotic, 
but, " throughout Bryant's life, his scattered poems upon 
political events, at home and abroad, have been conse- 
crated to freedom and its devotees. He breathed a spirit 
of independence with the wind of his native hills." *? 

Of his pleasant relationship to the members of his 
editorial staff, an associate writes:— -"He was reserved 
always by nature, but his reserve was rather that of shy 
modesty than that of conscious worth, and in his intercourse 
with his associates in the office of the Evening Post he 
was always singularly frank and easy. He even avoided 
that appearance of superior authority which is almost 
inseparable from the exercise of control over the working 
of a newspaper staff. His few and infrequent commands 
were requests always, and not only so, they were requests 
framed in the language, and uttered in the tone of one 
who asks a favour, not of one who merely wishes to dis- 
guise a command. 

"Notwithstanding his age and his chief ship in the 
office, he never, to my knowledge, sent for any member 
of his staff to come to him; if he had aught to say, he 
went to the person to whom he wished to say it. He 
would pass through the editorial rooms with a cheery 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 121 



*good morning;' he would sit down by one's desk and 
talk, if there was aught to talk about; or, if asked a 
question while passing, Avould stand while answering it, 
and frequently would relate some anecdote suggested by 
the question, or offer some apt quotation to illustrate the 
subject under discussion. 

" Mr. Bryant's tenderness of the feelings of other per- 
sons, and his earnest desire always to avoid the giving of 
unnecessary pain, were very marked. ' Soon after I began 
to do the duties of literary editor/ continues an associate, 
' Mr. Bryant, who was reading a review of a little book 
of wretchedly halting verse, said to me: 'I wish you 
would deal very gently with poets, especially with the 
weaker ones.' Later, I had a very bad case of poetic 
idiocy to deal with, and as Mr. Bryant happened to come 
into my room while I was debating the matter in my mind, 
I said to him that I was embarrassed by his injunction to 
deal gently with poets, and pointed out to him the utter 
impossibility of finding anything to praise or lightly to 
condemn in the book before me. After I had read some 
of its stanzas to him, he answered : 'No, you can't praise it, 
of course; it won't do to lie about it, but ' — turning the 
volume in his hand and inspecting it — 'you might say 
that the binding is securely put on, and that — Avell, the 
binder has planed the edges pretty smooth.' " 

Yet this tender-hearted, reserved, strongly-built, ath- 
letic man was not to be trifled with. In early editorial 
days his controversies sometimes brought him into 
unpleasant relations with his contemporaries. A demo- 
cratic editor, exasperated by certain statements in the 
Postj sent a challenge to its editor. Duelling in New 
York had, at that time, become less fashionable than it 
had been in previous years, and was rightly disappearing 
before the light. " The belligerent editor who challenged 



122 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Bryant had previously had a brush with his testy associate, 
WilKam Leggett; and had invited that gentleman to be 
killed by him, but in vain. In his reply to Holland's 
messenger, Bryant neither accepted nor declined the 
challenge, but said, that, when his antagonist had finished 
Leggett, his turn would come next! Thus the difiiculty 
ended." 

Another version of the affair is, that Mr. Bryant 
received the challenge coolly, and immediately replied to 
it in a note, which ended in words to this effect: "Were 
you a gentleman, and not a scoundrel, I should take some 
notice of you. But you are a scoundrel." The subject of 
this terse, and, we doubt not, true characterization, 
quiesced, and the affair was not heard of again. 

As an editor he felt it educationally incumbent upon 
him not only to consider matter, but manner, in the 
forms of literary expression; and he strove to perfect both. 
On May 11th, 1827, the following paragraph appeared in 
the Evening Post: — • 

"Affectations of Expression. — We are tired of the affec- 
tations which are often to be met with in some of our news- 
papers, and cannot but express a hope that they will be totally 
discarded, since they cannot be justified — such, for instance, 
as 'over' a signature, in the Washington newspapers; 'con- 
solate,' in those of Kentucky; 'was being built,' a late innova- 
tion of some Enghsh authors, and copied here; 'the Misses 
Gillingham,' in several pubUcations. These are all that offer 
themselves at this time, and ought to be corrected, as being 
neither correct English nor pleasant to the ear, nor expressive 
of any new idea." 

"This," says one of his editorial associates, "was but 
the beginning of a half century's crusade against in- 
elegance and inaccuracy in the use of our mother tongue. 
Outside of the line of his professional duty he sometimes 



LIFE SKETCH OP WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 123 

wielded his literary priming-knife, and, as an example of 
the good use he made of it, we may quote this letter, 
which was sent to a young man who asked for a criticism 
upon an article he had written : — • 

" My young friend, — I observe that you have used several 
French expressions in your letter. I think if you will study 
the English language that you will find it capable of expressing 
all the ideas that you may have. I have always found it so, 
and in all that I have written I do not recall an instance 
where I w^as tempted to use a foreign word but that, on 
searching, I have found a better one in my own language. 

"Be simple, unaffected; be honest in your speaking and 
writing. Never use a long word, wiien a short one will do 
as well. 

" Call a spade by its name, not a well-known oblong instru- 
ment of manual labour; let a home be a home and not a 
residence; a place, not a locality, and so on of the rest. 
When a short word will do you will always lose by a long one. 
You lose in clearness ; you lose in honest expression of mean- 
ing; and, in the estimation of all men who are capable of 
judging, you lose in reputation for ability. 

" The only true way to shine, even in this false world, is to 
be modest and unassuming. Falsehood may be a thick crust, 
but, in the course of time, truth will find a place to break 
through. Elegance of language may not be in the power of 
us all, but simplicity and straightforwardness are." 

Of his own practice in writing editorials we are told, 
" He measured his contributions to the paper rather by 
quality than quantity. When asked how he had man- 
aged to preserve his style in such purity under the 
deteriorating influences of his exacting profession, he 
replied, ' If my style has fewer defects than you expect, 
it is for the reason, I suppose, which Dr. Johnson gave 
Boswell for conversing so well: 'I always write my best.' 
When reminded of the daily emergencies when there is 
9 



124 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

no time to choose words, and the only alternative to a 
hasty article is none at all, he answered, ' I would sooner 
the paper would go to press without an editorial article 
than send to the printer one I was not satisfied with.' " 

"His prose labours," says Stedman, "were an outlet, 
constantly afforded in his journalism, through which 
much of that energy escaped, which otherwise would have 
varied the motives and increased the body of his song. 
It was in every way as perfect as his verse, as clearly 
prose, as that was poetry." 

Of his prose writings, a critic has ably said, "They 
contain no superfluous word, no empty or showy phrase, 
but are marked throughout by pure, manly, straightfor- 
ward, and vigorous English;" while his poems are char- 
acterized by "extreme purity and elegance in the choice 
of words, a compact and vigorous diction, great delicacy 
of fancy and elevation of thought, and a genial yet 
solemn and religious philosophy. As a minute observer 
of Nature he is almost without a rival among poets." 

A contemporary, the New York Tribune, pays the fol- 
lowing well-merited tribute to Bryant's pure and admir- 
able style: — 

"As a writer of prose Mr, Bryant would have, perhaps, 
enjoyed a more brilliant reputation if he had been less distin- 
guished in the walks of poetry. His acute political disquisi- 
tions, his admirable narratives of foreign travel, and his sug- 
gestive critical papers, which would have made the fame of a 
less eminent writer, are comparatively little known, and, as 
we think, somewhat to the disadvantage of the younger race 
of writers in this country, who would find in the study of 
these productions many choice lessons in the art of composi- 
tion. The language contains few more perfect models of the 
simple graces of style, of chaste descriptive power, and of 
the nameless felicities of expression which diffuse a subtle 
charm over the most unpretending prose like the odours from 
a bank of violets." 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 125 

General James Grant Wilson, in his Memoir of Bryant 
published in the memorial number prefixed to A Neiu 
Library of Poetry and Song, which was edited by the 
venerable poet, finely says : — " Bryant's prose has always 
received high commendation. A little collection of 
extracts from his writings has been compiled for use in 
schools, as a model of style. The secret of it, so far as 
genius can communicate its secrets, may be found in a 
letter addressed by Mr. Bryant to one of the editors of 
the Chrisiian Intelligencer, in reply to some questions, and 
published in the issue of that journal, July 11th, 1878: — 

" ' Eoslyn, Long Island, July 6, 1863. 

" ' It seems to me that in style we ought first, and above 
all things, to aim at clearness of expression. An obscure style 
is, of course, a bad style. In writing we should always con- 
sider not only whether we have expressed the thought in a 
manner which meets our own comprehension, but whether it 
will be understood by readers in general. 

" ' The quality of style next in imjoortance is attractiveness. 
It should invite and agreeably detain the reader. To acquire 
such a style, I know of no other way than to contemplate good 
models and consider the observations of able critics. The 
Latin and Greek classics of which you speak* are certainly im- 
portant helps in forming a taste in respect to style, but to 
attain a good English style something more is necessary — the 
diligent study of good English authors. I would recur for 
this purpose to the elder worthies of our literature — to such 
writers as Jeremy Taylor, and Barrow, and Thomas Fuller — 
whose works are perfect treasures of the riches of our lan- 
guage. Many modern writers have great excellences of style, 
but few are without some deficiency. . . . 

" ' I have but one more counsel to give in regard to the for- 
mation of a style in composition, and that is, to read the poets 
— the nobler and grander ones of our language. In this way 
warmth and energy is communicated to the diction, and a 
musical flow to the sentences. 



126 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT, 

"'I have here treated the subject very briefly and meagrely, 
but I have given you my own method, and the rules by which 
I have been guided through many years mostly passed in 
literary labours and studies.' " 

Bryant, at the editorial desk, was in the thick of the 
conflict of men and measures. At home, in his quiet 
library or in the open air, he held sweet, calm inter- 
course with the wise of all ages and with Nature, and 
found leisure to commune with his own heart, thus 
preserving the freshness and balance of his powers. 

Curtis says that "Bryant, for half a century, with con- 
science and knowledge, with power and unquailing 
courage, did his part in holding the hand and heart of 
his country true to her now glorious ideal 

" During all this time the sturdy political editor was 
the chief literary figure in the city. Mr. Bigelow says 
that he never mingled or confounded his two vocations, 
that they were two distinct currents of intellectual life. 
This is doubtless true. But it is the same breath of the 
organ that thunders through the trumpet stop, and whis- 
pers in the vox humana. In the earlier legends, it is the 
poet who leads the warriors, and the earlier legends were 
justified when the poet of 'Thanatopsis' and 'The Water- 
fowl ' came down from the hills to the newspaper office." 

The Eev. Henry W. Bellows, D.D., in his funeral 
address, said, "That he should have succeeded, in keeping 
the poetic temperament and the tastes and pursuits of a 
poet fully alive, under the active and incessant pressure 
of his journalistic labours — making his bread and his 
immediate influence as a citizen and a leader of public 
sentiment by editorial work, while he 'built the lofty 
rhyme ' for the gratification of his genius and for the sake 
of beauty and art, without one glance at immediate 
suffrages or rewards — if not a solitary, is at least a per- 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 127 

feet, example of the union in one man of the power to 
work with nearly equal success in two planes, where what 
he did in one did not contradict or conflict with what he 
did in the other, while they were not mingled or con- 
founded. Nobody detects the editor, the politician, the 
man of business, in Bryant's poetry, and few feel the poet 
in his editorial writings; but the man of conscience, of 
humanity, of justice and truth, of purity and honour, 
appears equally in both." 

An old acquaintance of Bryant's, in his recollections of 
him, tells us : "To one who exj^ressecl some surprise that 
he could submit to the drudgery connected with the 
issue of a daily paper, he remarked that every one had 
his allotted work, and must find his happiness in its per- 
formance. If God had made any men seers of the 
beautiful, they were not to seclude themselves from the 
world where work was to be done for humanity and for 
God. He spoke with disapprobation of men retiring 
voluntarily from any useful service. He regarded ex- 
perience as a talent which no one had a right to hide in a 
napkin." 

Of Bryant's two lives, Bigelow, who had ample op- 
portunities of knowing, said, in his address before the 
Century Club: — "As Bryant, from the day he embarked 
in journalism, continued a journalist until the close of 
his life, so, from a yet earlier period of his life to its 
close, he never ceased to be a poet; reminding us of 
Cowley's remark, that it is seldom seen that the poet 
dies before the man. But Bryant never confounded the 
two vocations in any way, or allowed either to interfere to 
any appreciable extent with the other. They constituted 
two separate and distinct currents of intellectual life, one 
running through the other, if you please, but never 
mixing with it, as the Gulf -stream winds its way through 



128 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

the broad Atlantic, though always distinguished from it 
by its higher temperature. . . . He used his feet for 
walking and he used his wings for flying, but he never 
attempted to fly with his feet nor to run with his wings. 
He earned his bread, and he fought the battle of life with 
his journal; but he made no secret of the fact that he 
looked to his verses for the perpetuation of his name. 
When he put on his singing robes he practically with- 
drew from the world and went up into a high mountain, 
where the din and clamour of professional life in which 
he habitually dwelt was inaudible. On those occasions 

' His soul was like a star and dwelt apart.' 

"When the semi-centennial anniversary of the Evening 
Post was approaching, I proposed to him to prepare for 
its columns a sketch of its career. He cheerfully accepted 
the task, and, in order that he might be free from inter- 
ruption, I recommended him to go down to his country 
home at Roslyn and remain there till it was finished, and 
let me send him there such of the files of the paper as he 
might have occasion to consult. He rejected the proposal 
as abruptly as if I had asked him to off'er sacrifices to 
Apollo. He would allow no such work to follow him 
there. Not even the shadow of his business must fall 
upon the consecrated haunts of his Muse." 

His son-in-law, Mr. Parke Godwin, — v/ho, along with 
the Hon. John Bigelow, whose name is known in litera- 
ture and diplomacy, assisted in the conduct of the paper, 
and brought both enterprise and literary skill to the aid 
of the editor-in-chief, — also states that Bryant always 
wrote his editorials in the office and never at his home, 
adding, " He steadily refused to carry the shop with him; 
seldom, if ever, conversing on the exciting questions of 
the day at his home, — preferring to read some fascinating 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 129 

book, or to talk on general topics with cultivated friends. 
By this means he was enabled to bring to his desk a 
mind ever alert and fresh, fancies ever new, and language 
that was choice and picturesque." 

"As we look back," says Professor David J. Hill, 
" over the half -century of Bryant's life as an editor, we 
learn two important lessons. The first is, that the highest 
literary character can be maintained by one who is daily 
engaged in the practical discussions of his time; the 
second is, that personal nobility of mind, and integrity of 
life, may be preserved in the midst of political con- 
troversy. To have taught these lessons alone is a 
sufficient result for a lifetime of toil and sacrifice. . . . 

"It is sometimes remarked that Bryant WTote little; 
and, if we have in mind only what he has published 
in books, this is true. If, however, we take into the 
account his editorial contributions during the fifty-two 
years of his connection with the Post, he is one of 
the most voluminous writers that ever lived. At a 
moderate average, his editorials alone would fill more 
than a hundred duodecimo volumes of five hundred pages 
each — a mass of literature that no American writer has 
exceeded. And, what is more important, most of these 
wi'itings are fairly worthy of the name literature, whether 
we consider the topics, ranging through the whole realm 
of public questions for half a century; the originality of 
treatment, often disclosing the widest scholarship and the 
most profound reflection; or the style, always pure, clear, 
and forcible, and often chastely elegant. Behind this 
editor's desk there sat a master of many languages, a 
traveller in foreign lands, a student of various sciences, 
a poet of unquestioned genius, a moralist of high princi- 
ples, a critic of keen penetration." 

" In all the long, tumultuous years of his editorial life," 



130 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

says Curtis, "does any memory, however searching or 
censorious, recall one line that he wrote which was not 
honest and pure, one measure that he defended except 
from the profoundest conviction of its usefulness to the 
country, one cause that he advocated which any friend of 
liberty, of humanity, or of good government would de- 
plored' 

And Bellows said of him, " None could long doubt the 
honesty, the conscientiousness, the elevation and purity 
of his convictions or his utterances. . . . And what 
moderation, candour, and courage he carried into his 
editorial work ! Purity of thought, elegance and simplicity 
of style, exquisite taste and high morality characterized 
all he wrote." 

To the great influence which Bryant exerted, through 
the columns of the Post, the American contemporary 
press, at his death, freely and ungrudgingly bore testi- 
mony. As a specimen, we quote the following paragraph 
from the columns of the New York Herald: — 

"Although Mr. Bryant's enduring fame will rest chiefly 
upon his productions in verse, poetry was only his recreation 
— an intellectual pastime amid graver employments. The 
chief occupation of his life was that of a journalist, or rather 
of a publicist, for he aimed rather to guide the public judg- 
ment than to furnish the community with news. He was an 
editor of the Evening Post for more than fifty years, and 
during this long period his influence was always actively felt 
in the politics of the country. Every journalist has reason to 
be proud of a profession, which so gifted and illustrious a man 
did not think unworthy of his abilities." 

"Pursuing beyond the age of fourscore, an energetic 
literary career," says his friend General James Grant 
Wilson, " the poet was also an active co-labourer in all 
worthy movements to promote the advancement of the 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 131 

arts and literature. A liberal patron of art himself, he 
was always the judicious and eloquent advocate of the 
claims of artists. . . . Philanthropic in his nature, 
Bryant was ever the consistent promoter of all subjects 
having for their tendency the elevation of the race and the 
fuitlierance of the interests of humanity." 

The following terse and just characterization of Mr. 
Bryant as a political journalist, taken from an article 
^vhich appeared in the editorial column of the Post since 
his death, gives an admirable summary of the man's life 
and work :— 

" Mr. Bryant's political life was so closely associated with 
his journalistic life, that they must necessarily be considered 
together. He never sought public office ; he repeatedly refused 
to hold it. He made no effort either to secure or to use in- 
fluence in politics, except through his newspajDer and by his 
silent, individual vote at the polls. The same methods 
marked his political and his journalistic life. He could be a 
stout party man upon occasion, but only when the party pro- 
moted what he believed to be right principles. When the 
party with which he was accustomed to act did what accord- 
ing to his judgment was wrong, he would denounce and oppose 
it as readily and as heartily as he would the other party. . . . 

^' He looked upon the journal which he conducted, as a con- 
scientious statesman looks upon the official trust which has 
been committed to him, or the work which he has undertaken 
— not with a view to do what is to be done to-day in the easiest 
or most brilliant way, but so to do it that it may tell upon 
what is to be done to-morrow, and all other days, until the 
worthiest object of ambition is achieved. This is the most 
useful journalism ; and, first and last, it is the most effective 
and influential." 

Thus we have seen, that, from the very beginning of 
his long career as a journalist, in the Evening Post, Bryant 
avoided the personalities which were then too common in 



132 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

controversy, and steadily aimed at reforming and elevating 
the general tone of the press; while the candour, literary 
experience, learning, and refined taste which he brought 
to bear on his work, soon began to tell favourably, and, 
at length, firmly and deservedly established the position 
of the Post, as an influential and leading power, in the 
very front rank of American newspapers. It was also a 
financial success; thus, by conscientious rectitude and 
unremitting labour, he acquired a com]3etent fortune, 
and, at his death, the poet, it is said, was able to leave a 
hundred thousand pounds to his family. 



CHAPTEE yill. 

1827-1832: Literary Work — Poems Published in New York 
AND London— Volume Favourably Eeceived — Poems and 

Translations. 

Tales of the Glauber Spa— Sands— Poems Published in London— Washington. 
Irving — Professor Wilson and Halleck's Opinion of them — Bryant's 
Theory of Poetry— The Poet— Stedman and Ray Palmer on Bryant- 
Poems— Winter Piece— The Summer Wind— Wooing Song— The African 
Chief— The Gladness of Nature— Summer Ramble— The Past— The Even- 
ing Wind— Innocent Child— To the Fringed Gentian— Translations— The 
Life of the Blessed— Love in the Age of Chivalry— The Love of God. 

For some time after joining the Evening Post in 1826, 
Bryant found leisure to do a good deal of literary work. 
Associated with Verplanck and Kobert C. Sands, as we 
have already seen, he edited the Talisman from 1827 to 

1830. 

Washington Irving, in 1827, "writing from Spain to his 
friend Henry Brevoort,said : — " I have been charmed with 
what I have seen of the writings of Bryant and Halleck. 
Are you acquainted with them? I should like to know 
something of them personally. Their vein of thinking is 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 133 

quite above that of ordinary men and ordinary poets, and 
they are masters of the magic of poetical language." 

In 1832, Bryant also contributed two stories — "Med- 
field" and "The Skeleton's Cave"— to the Tales of the 
Glauber Sjm, a miscellany in two volumes, in which were 
contributions from Paulding, Leggett, Sands, and Miss 
Sedgwick, That same year. Sands suddenly died of apo- 
plexy, at the age of thirty-three. The pen was in his 
hand, and he had just written the ominous line, 

" Oh ! think not my spirit among you abides," 

in an imaginary account of Esquimaux literature on which 
he was engaged, when he was called away. He was a man 
of decided ability as a journalist, humourist, poet, and 
classical scholar; and, after his death, Yerplanck and 
Bryant collected and jointly edited his works. 

In 1832, all the poems written by Bryant previous to 
that date were also collected and published at New York. 
Verplanck, who was acquainted with Washington Irving, 
then Secretary of the American Legation in London, and 
whose position as a literary man was already established 
on both sides of the Atlantic, sent a copy of the volume 
to Irving, accompanied with a private note, requesting his 
influence in finding a publisher, and introducing the 
yoimg poet to the British public. 

Immediately before publication in New York, Bryant 

himself also addressed the following letter to Washington 

Irving : — 

"New York, Dec. 29, 1831. 

" Sir, — I have put to press in this city a duodecimo volume 
of two hundred and forty pages, comprising all my poems 
which I thought worth printing, most of which have already 
appeared. Several of them, I believe, you have seen; and 
of some, if I am rightly informed, you have been pleased to 
express a favourable opinion. Before publishing the work 



134 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

here, I have sent a copy of it to Murray, the London book- 
seller, by whom I am desirous that it should be published in 
England. I have taken the liberty — which I hope you will 
pardon a countryman of yours, who relies on the known kind- 
ness of your disposition to plead his excuse— of referring him 
to you. As it is not altogether impossible that the work 
might be republished in England if I did not offer it myself, 
I could wish that it might be published by a respectable book- 
seller in a respectable manner. 

" I have written to Mr. Yerplanck, desiring him to give me 
a letter to you on the subject ; but, as the packet which takes 
out my book will sail before I can receive an answer, I have 
presumed so far on your goodness as to make the application 
myself. May I ask of you the favour to write to Mr. Murray 
on the subject as soon as you receive this? In my letter to 
him I have said nothing of the terms, which of course will 
depend upon circumstances which I may not know, or of 
which I cannot judge. I should be glad to receive something 
for the work ; but, if he does not think it worth his while to 
give anything, I had rather that he should take it for nothing, 
than that it should not be published by a respectable book- 
seller. 

" I must again beg you to excuse the freedom I have taken. 
I have no personal acquaintance in England whom I could 
ask to do what I have ventured to request of you, and I know 
of no person to whom I could prefer the request with greater 
certainty that it will be kindly entertained. — I am, sir, with 
sentiments of the highest respect, your obedient humble 
servant, William C. Bryant. 

"P.S. — I have taken the liberty to accompany this letter 
with a copy of the work." 

Irving, struck by the freshness and beauty of Bryant's 
poems, with his usual kindness, cordially undertook the 
friendly task for one whom as yet he had never met. 
He argued, that, as the British public had appreciated the 
graphic descriptions of American scenery and wild wood- 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 135 

land characters contained in the works of Cooper, they 
would also be delighted with Bryant's grand and charac- 
teristic merit — namely, his nationality and power of 
delineating American landscape, especially " in its wild, 
solitary, and magnificent forms;" and this in language 
always classic, pure, lucid, and perfect. 

Irving at once communicated with Murray the publisher; 
for financial reasons, however, he was not then open to 
entertain the volume; but Andrews, a bookseller in Bond 
Street, was willing to undertake it, provided Irving would 
write an introduction and edit it; which he did. 

The dedication was addressed to Samuel Rogers, and, 
in it, Irving thus expressed his true appreciation of 
Bryant's genius when characterizing his poems : — " They 
transport us into the depths of the solemn primeval forest, 
to the shores of the lonely lake, the banks of the wild, 
nameless stream, or the brow of the rocky upland, rising 
like a promontory from amidst a wide ocean of foliage; 
while they shed around us the glory of a climate fierce in 
its extremes, but splendid in all its vicissitudes. His close 
observation of the phenomena of nature, and the graphic 
felicity of his details, prevent his descriptions from ever 
becoming general and commonplace; while he has the 
gift of shedding over them a pensive grace that blends 
them all into harmony, and of clothing them with moral 
associations that make them speak to the heart. Neither, 
I am convinced, will it be the least of his merits, in your 
eyes, that his writings are imbued with the independent 
spirit and buoyant aspirations incident to a youthful, a 
free, and a rising country." And, in comparing Bryant 
with Cooper, he says: — "The same keen eye and just 
feeling for nature, the same indigenous style of thinking 
and local peculiarity of imagery, which give such novelty 
and interest to the pages of that gifted ^mter, will be 



136 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

•found to characterize this vohime, condensed into a 
narrower compass, and sublimated into poetry." 

In the following letter, Bryant expressed his gratitude 
to Irving : — 

" New York, April 24, 1832. 

"My dear Sir, — I have received a copy of the London edition 
of my poems forwarded by you. I find it difficult to express 
the sense I entertain of the obligation you have laid me under 
by doing so much more for me in this matter than I could have 
ventured, under any circumstances, to expect. Had your 
kindness been limited to procuring the publication of the work, 
I should still have esteemed the favour worthy of my particu- 
lar acknowledgment ; but by giving it the sanction of your 
name, and presenting it to the British public with a recom- 
mendation so powerful as yours on both sides of the Atlantic, 
I feel that you have done me an honour in the eyes of my 
countrymen and of the world. 

"It is said that you intend shortly to visit this country. 
Your return to your native land will be welcomed with en- 
thusiasm, and I shall be most happy to make my acknowledg- 
ments in person. — I am, sir, very sincerely yours, 

Wm. C. Bryant," 

This same year, Bryant tells us, while he was hover- 
ing on the skirts of the Indian war, Washington Irving 
returned home from his long sojourn in Europe, and he 
had the pleasure of making his personal acquaintance. 

Bryant's poems were everywhere well received in Great 
Britain. On the appearance of the volume, Christopher 
North wrote a kindly and favourable notice of it in 
Blackivood's Magazine: "The chief charm of Bryant's 
poetry," said he, "consists in a tender pensiveness, a 
moral melancholy, breathing over all his contemplations, 
dreams, and reveries, even such as are in the main glad, 
and giving assurance of a pure spirit, benevolent to all 
living creatures, and habitually pious in the felt omni- 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 137 

presence of the Creator. ... It overflows with 
what Wordsworth calls 'the religion of the gods.' The 
reverential awe of the irresistible pervades the verses 
entitled ' Thanatopsis ' and ' A Forest Hymn,' imparting 
to them a sweet solemnity, which must afiect all thinking 
hearts." 

From this time, Bryant's reputation stood as high in 
Europe as it did in America, where, also, his poems con- 
tinued to be more and more appreciated and praised. 
Halleck, on a subsequent occasion, after repeating from 
memory the whole of Bryant's beautiful poem, "The 
Planting of the Apple Tree," which he had taken the 
pains to transcribe, said to General James Grant Wilson, 
— " His genius is almost the only instance of a high order 
of thought becoming popular; not that the people do not 
prize literary worth, but because they are unable to 
comprehend obscure poetry. Bryant's pieces seem to be 
fragments of one and the same poem, and require only a 
common plot to constitute a unique epic." 

Bryant spoke with admiration and reverence of Words- 
worth; and, afterwards, frequently mentioned with plea- 
sure, the courteous and kindly manner in which he was 
received by him when he visited the Lake country. The 
grandeur and solemnity of Wordsworth had stirred his 
soul with sympathy, but he resembled him, chiefly, in 
the meditative character of his genius. Of Bryant it has 
been said, that, like Goldsmith, "he made use of few 
words, restricting himself to the simpler phrases of our 
tongue." He certainly possessed the triple gift of Athene, 
" self -reverence, self-knowledge, and self-control." 

Bryant has given us glimpses of his theory of poetry, 
in the preface to the Lihraiij of Poetry and Song, which 
he edited, telHng us — that poetry ought to fill the 
mind with delightful images, and awaken the gentler 



138 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYATSTT. 

emotions; that the varieties of poetic excellence are as 
great as the varieties of beauty in flowers, or in the 
female face, or in the vari-coloured tints of twin-stars; 
that only poems of moderate length, or portions of greater 
poems, produce the poetical effect — this because poetry 
awakens emotions which are necessarily of limited dura- 
tion, and in long poems, even of the highest order, we 
chiefly dwell on the noble passages; that poetry should 
be free from "far-fetched conceits, ideas oddly brought 
together, and quaint turns of thought," in short, that 
poetry should be simple, so as not to tax the attention by 
artificial or involved expressions, but leave feeling to 
flow on freely and spontaneously; that the materials of 
poetry are found in the permanent surroundings of life, 
and in natural objects. To quote his own w^ords : — 

" The elements of poetry lie in natural objects, in the vicis- 
situdes of life, in the emotions of the human heart, and the 
relations of man and man. He who can present them in com- 
binations and lights which at once affect the mind with a deep 
sense of their truth and beauty is the poet for his own age 
and the ages that succeed it. It is no disparagement to either 
his skin or his power that he finds them near at hand : the 
nearer they lie to the common track of the human intelhgence, 
the more certain is he of the sympathy of his own generation, 
and of those which shall come after him." 

He also believed that poetry came within the laws of 
ethics, and was, consequently, subject to moral restric- 
tions. Such were some of the canons of Bryant's art; 
but he was careful not to limit them; always, however, 
regarding poetry as a high calling and a sacred trust. 
He chose to deal with the eternal, rather than the 
transient; and, in one of his later poems, he has given us 
both the key to his theory, and, at the same time, a 
beautiful example of his art : — 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 139 

THE POET. 

Thou, who woiildst wear the name 

Of poet mid thy brethren of mankind, 
And clothe in words of flame 

Thoughts that shall live within the general mind! 
Deem not the framing of a deatliless lay 
The pastime of a drowsy summer day. 

But gather all thy powers. 

And wreak them on the verse that thou dost weave, 
And in thy lonely hours, 

At silent morning or at wakeful eve, 
"While the warm current tingles through thy veins, 
Set forth the burning words in fluent strains. 

No smooth array of phrase, 

Artfully sought and ordered though it be, 
Which the cold rhymer lays 

Upon his page with languid industry, 
Can wake the listless pulse to livelier speed, 
Or fill with sudden tears the eyes that read. 

The secret wouldst thou know 

To touch the heart or fire the blood at will? 
Let thine own eyes o'erflow ; 

Let thy lips quiver with the passionate thrill; 
Seize the great thought, ere yet its power be past. 
And bind, in words, the fleet emotion fast. 

Then, should thy verse appear 

Halting and harsh, and all unaptly wrought. 
Touch the crude line with fear, 

Save in the moment of impassioned thought ; 
Tfien summon back the original glow, and mend 
The strain with rapture that with fire was penned. 

Yet let no empty gust 

Of passion find an utterance in thy lay, 
A blast that whirls the dust 

Along the howling street and dies away; 
10 



140 LIFE SKETCH OP WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

But feelings of calm power and mighty sweep, 
Like currents journeying through the windless deep. 

Seek'st thou, in living lays. 

To limn the beauty of the earth and sky? 
Before thine inner gaze 

Let all that beauty in clear vision lie ; 
Look on it with exceeding love, and write 
The words inspired by wonder and delight. 

Of tempests wouldst thou sing. 

Or tell of battles — make thyself a part 

Of the great tumult ; cling 

To the tossed wreck with terror in thy heart; 

Scale, with the assaulting host, the rampart's height. 

And strike and struggle in the thickest fight. 

So shalt thou frame a lay 

That haply may endure from age to age, 
And they who read shall say : 

" What witchery hangs upon this poet's page ! 
What art is his the written spells to find 
That sway from mood to mood the willing mind!" 

Stedman, after remarking on Bryant's perfect mastery 
over the few simple rhythmic measures in which he 
elected to write, goes on to say : — " The finest and most 
sustained of his poems of nature are those written in 
blank verse. At intervals, so rare throughout his life as 
to resemble the seven-year harvests, or the occasional 
wave that overtops the rest, he composed a series of those 
pieces which now form a unique panorama of nature's 
aspects, moving to the music of lofty thoughts and 
melodious words. . . . Like the bards of old, his spirit 
delights in fire, air, earth, and water, — the apparent struc- 
tures of the starry heavens, the mountain recesses, and 
the vasty deep. These he apostrophizes, but, over them 
and within them, he discerns and bows the knee to the 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 141 

omniscience of a protecting Father, a creative God. Poets, 
eminent in this wise, have been gifted always with ima- 
gination. ... He seldom touched the keys, yet they 
gave out an organ tone. . . . As he grew older, be- 
yond the asperities of life, he became less brooding, sad, 
and grave. His fancy, what there was of it, came in his 
later years, and suggested two of his longest pieces, 
'Sella' and 'The Little Children of the Snow' tales of 
folk-lore, in which his lighter and more graceful handling 
of blank-verse may be studied with pleasure." 

Dr. Eay Palmer, specially referring to Bryant, with fine 
critical acumen, has thus pointed out the qualities which 
render poetry enduring: — "Poems, however intellectually 
splendid in conception and brilliant in their finish, that 
are not in chime with the deeper experiences of humanity, 
and do not touch the richest chords of sympathy, or that 
embody the corrupting and the false, however charmingly 
wrought up, will not be permanently read and praised. 
On the other hand, the poet that is true to external 
nature, to the nature of man, to the reality of things 
past, present, and future so far as that is open to the seer 
— whose aim and the tendency of whose writings are to 
elevate and refine, to quicken and to urge towards the 
best possibilities, is the poet who will be least affected by 
the ever-changing caprices of the day, and will most 
deeply root, and most enduringly maintain himself, in 
the affections and memories of mankind. His reputation 
will rest on no mere critical opinions, nor anything fac- 
titious, but on what is most fixed in the constitution of 
the human soul and in the truth of things, and therefore 
will abide. 

" Mr. Eryant is a poet of this class, and his place in 
the literature of his country and the world has long 
since been determined. At home and abroad alike, the 



142 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

position assigned him is in the front rank of the poets 
of his time. Yet he has never been the poet of the mil- 
lion. He is a poet of his own order; an order requiring 
a certain refinement and culture in his readers for the 
true appreciation of it, and therefore subject to some 
limitations. . . . 

" Endowed with a nature singularly tender and recep- 
tive, and an intellect clear and keen in its perceptions, 
he has presented to his readers a transcript of what he 
himself has seen and felt — of what is richest, purest, 
highest, in his own inward life — a life of marked charac- 
teristics and diversified experience. To such an extent 
is this true, that the number of his pieces not bearing 
distinctly the impress of his own personality is very small 
indeed. 

"A calm and meditative temperament, a delicate sensi- 
bility, a rich but chaste imagination, a profoundly serious 
thoughtfulness in the presence of the mysteries of nature 
and of human existence, a settled faith in God and his 
providence, in the immortality of man and the truth of 
the Christian religion — these are the leading characteris- 
tics of the man, as revealed in the general tenor of his 
poetry." 

How carefully accurate and brilliant are the pictures 
of nature Bryant gives us ! Witness the following lines, 
descriptive of trees, from "A Winter Piece:" — 

"Come when the rains 
Have glazed the snow and clothed the trees with ice, 
While the slant sun of February pours 
Into the bowers a flood of light. Approach! 
The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps, 
And the broad arching portals of the grove 
Welcome thy entering. Look! the massy trunks 
Are cased in the pure crystal ; each light spray. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 143 

Nodding and tinkling in the breath of heaven, 
Is studded with its trembling water-drops, 
That glimmer with an amethystine light. 
But round the parent-stem the long low boughs 
Bend, in a glittering ring, and arbours hide 
The glassy floor. Oh! you might deem the spot 
The spacious cavern of some virgin mine. 
Deep in the womb of earth — where the gems grow, 
And diamonds put forth radiant rods and bud 
With amethyst and topaz — and the place 
Lit np, most royally, with the pure beam 
That dwells in them. Or, haply, the 'vast hall 
Of fairy palace, that outlasts the night, 
And fades not in the glory of the sun; — 
Where crystal columns send forth slender shafts 
And crossing arches; and fantastic aisles 
Wind from the sight in brightness, and are lost 
Among the crowded pillars. Eaise thine eye; 
Thou seest no cavern roof, no palace vault ; 
There the blue sky and the white drifting cloud 
Look in. Again the wildered fancy dreams 
Of spouting fountains, frozen as they rose. 
And fixed, with all their branching jets, in air, 
And all their sluices sealed. All, all is light ; 
Light without shade. But all shall pass away 
\Yith the next sun. From numberless vast trunks 
Loosened, the crashing ice shall make a sound 
Like the far roar of rivers, and the eve 
Shall close o'er the brown woods as it was wont." 

Or the " Summer Wind," the whole of which is very per- 
fect of its kind : — 

SUMMER WIND. 

It is a sultry day; the sun has drunk 
The dew that lay upon the morning grass; 
There is no rustling in the lofty elm 
That canopies my dwelling, and its shade 



144 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint 
And interrupted murmur of the bee, 
Settling on the sick flowers, and then again 
Instantly on the wing. The plants around 
Feel the too potent fervours : the tall maize 
Eolls up its long green leaves; the clover droops 
Its tender foliage, and declines its blooms. 
But far in the fierce sunshine tower the hills, 
With all their growth of woods, silent and stern, 
As if the scorching heat and dazzling light 
"Were but an element they loved. Bright clouds. 
Motionless pillars of the brazen heaven — 
Their bases on the mountains — their white tops 
Shining in the far ether — fire the air 
With a reflected radiance, and make turn 
The gazer's eye away. For me, I lie 
Languidly in the shade, where the thick turf. 
Yet virgin from the kisses of the sun, 
Retains some freshness, and I woo the wind 
That still delays his coming. Why so slow, 
Gentle and voluble spirit of the air? 
Oh, come and breathe upon the fainting earth 
Coolness and life. Is it that in his caves 
He hears me? See, on yonder woody ridge, 
The pine is bending his proud top, and now 
Among the nearer groves, chestnut and oak 
Are tossing their green boughs about. He conies 
Lo, where the grassy meadow runs in waves! 
The deep distressful silence of the scene 
Breaks up with mingling of unnumbered sounds 
And universal motion. He is come. 
Shaking a shower of blossoms from the shrubs. 
And bearing on their fragrance ; and he brings 
Music of birds, and rustling of young boughs. 
And sound of swaying branches, and the voice 
Of distant waterfalls. All the green herbs 
Are stirring in his breath; a thousand flowers, 
By the road-side and the borders of the brook, 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 145 

Nod gayly to each other ; glossy leaves 
Are twinkling in the sun, as if the dew- 
Were on them yet, and silver waters break 
Into small waves and sparkle as he comes. 

There is a sweet, dainty, Elizabethan air about the 
following "Song," in which he quaintly recommends each 
of the four seasons as adapted for wooing : — 

SONG. 

Dost thou idly ask to hear 

At what gentle seasons 
Nymphs relent, when lovers near 

Press the tenderest reasons? 
Ah, they give their faith too oft 

To the careless wooer; 
Maidens' hearts are always soft : 

Would that men's were truer ! 

Woo the fair one when around 

Early birds are singing; 
When, o'er all the fragrant ground, 

Early herbs are springing : 
When the brookside, bank, and grove, 

All with blossoms laden, 
Shine with beauty, breathe of love, — 

Woo the timid maiden. 

Woo her when, with rosy blush, 

Summer eve is sinking ; 
When, on rills that softly gush, 

Stars are softly winking ; 
When through boughs that knit the bower 

Moonlight gleams are stealing 
Woo her, till the gentle hour 

Wake a gentler feeling. 

Woo her, when autumnal dyes 
Tinge the woody mountain; 



146 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

When the drooping foliage lies 

In the weedy fountain ; 
Let the scene that tells how fast 

Youth is passing over, 
Warn her, ere her bloom is past, 

To secure her lover. 

Woo her when the north winds call 

At the lattice nightly; 
When, within the cheerful hall, 

Blaze the fagots brightly; 
While the wintry tempest round 

Sweeps the landscape hoary, 
Sweeter in her ear shall sound 

Love's delightful story. 

The poem w^hich follows is bold, striking, and only too 
true an illustration of the sad fact, that 

" Man's inhumanity to man 
Makes countless thousands mourn I" 

for, alas! the tender mercies of the wicked are always 
cruel : — 

THE AFEICAN CHIEF. 

Chained in the market-place he stood, 

A man of giant frame, 
Amid the gathering multitude 

That shrunk to hear his name — 
All stern of look and strong of limb, 

His dark eye on the ground : — 
And silently they gazed on him, 

As on a lion bound. 

Vainly, but v/ell, that chief had fought, 

He was a captive now. 
Yet pride, that fortune humbles not. 

Was written on his brow. 
The scars his dark broad bosom wore 

Showed warrior true and brave ; 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT 147 

A prince among his tribe before, 
He could not be a slave. 

Then to his conqueror he spake : 

*' My brother is a king ; 
Undo this necklace from my neck, 

And take this bracelet ring, 
And send me where my brother reigns, 

And I will fill thy hands 
With store of ivory from the plains, 

And gold-dust from the sands." 

*' Not for thy ivory nor thy gold 

Will I unbind thy chain; 
That bloody hand shall never hold 

The battle-spear again. 
A price thy nation never gave 

Shall yet be paid for thee ; 
For thou shalt be the Christian's slave, 

In lands beyond the sea." 

Then wept the warrior chief, and bade 

To shred his locks away; 
And one by one, each heavy braid 

Before the victor lay. 
Thick were the platted locks, and long, 

And closely hidden there 
Shone many a wedge of gold among 

The dark and crispc^d hair. 

" Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold 

Long kept for sorest need : 
Take it — thou askest sums untold — ■ 

And say that I am freed. 
Take it — my wife, the long, long day. 

Weeps by the cocoa-tree. 
And my young children leave their play, 

And ask in vain for me." 

" I take thy gold, but I have made 
Thy fetters fast and strong. 



148 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

And ween that by the cocoa-shade 

Thy wife will wait thee long." 
Strong was the agony that shook 

The captive's frame to hear, 
And the proud meaning of his look 

Was changed to mortal fear. 

His heart was broken — crazed his brain : 

At once his eye grew wild ; 
He struggled fiercely with his chain, 

Whispered, and wept, and smiled; 
Yet wore not long those fatal bands, 

And once, at shut of day. 
They drew him forth upon the sands 

The foul hyena's prey. 

"What cheerful brightness there is in 

THE GLADNESS OF NATUEE! 

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, 

When our mother Nature laughs around ; 

When even the deep blue heavens look glad, 

And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? 

There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, 
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky; 

The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den, 
And the wilding bee hums merrily by. 

The clouds are at play in the azure space. 

And their shadows at play on the bright-green vale. 

And here they stretch to the frolic chase, 
And there they roll on the easy gale. 

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, 
There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree. 

There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower. 
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. 

And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles 
On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray, 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 149 

On the leaping waters and gay young isles ; 
Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. 

How natural is his longing, in the "Summer Ramble!" — 

" Away ! I will not be, to-day, 
The only slave of toil and care, 
Away from desk and dust ! away ! 
I'll be as idle as the air. 

Beneath the open sky abroad, 

Among the plants and breathing things, 

The sinless, peaceful works of God, 
I'll share the calm the season brings." 

Speaking of Bryant's poem entitled '' The Past," 
Stoddard says: — "There is a depth, a grandeur, a solem- 
nity in this poem which Bryant had not before attained, 
and an imaginative presentation of things intangible, 
which the strong art of the poet summons before us, we 
know not how. He contrives to re-people 

" ' The dark backward and abysm of time ' 

with awful, and sorrowful, and beautiful shapes and 
shadows." 

We quote the last three verses, which are full of hope- 
ful longing, tenderness, and beauty : — 

" They have not perished — no ! 
Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet, 

Smiles, radiant long ago. 
And features, the great soul's apparent seat. 

All shall come back ; each tie 
Of pure affection shall be knit again ; 

Alone shall Evil die, 
And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign. 

And then shall I behold 
Him, by whose kind paternal side I sprung, 



150 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

And her, wlio, still and cold, 
Fills the next grave — the beautiful and young." 

"The Evening Wind," picturesque and melodious, is 
full of sweet humanity. " He sees the regions of land 
and sea, that the wind has blown over on its journey to 
his lattice. He knows that it is a delight to others as 
well as to himself; to the higher forms of nature as well as 
to mankind; that it rocks the little bird in his nest, curls 
the still waters, summons the forest harmonies from in- 
numerable boughs, and takes its pleasant way over the 
closing flowers. The old man leans his silver head to 
feel it; it kisses the sleeping child, and dries the 
moistened curls on his temples; and those who watch by 
the sick man's bed part his curtains to allow it to cool 
his burning brow. This large, far-reaching sympathy 
with his fellow-creatures is a marked characteristic of 
Bryant's poetry, and distinguishes it," says Stoddard 
justly, " from that of every other American poet, living or 
dead." 

THE EVENING WIND. 

Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou 
That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day. 

Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow; 
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, 

Riding aU day the wild blue waves till now, 
Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray, 

And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee 

To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea ! 

Nor I alone; a thousand bosoms round 

Inhale thee in the fulness of delight ; 
And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound 

Livelier, at coming of the wind of night; 
And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound. 

Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 151 

Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth, 
God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth ! 

Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest. 

Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse 

The wide old wood from his majestic rest, 
Summoning from the innumerable boughs 

The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast : 
Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows 

The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, 

And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass. 

The faint old man shall lean his silver head 
To feel thee ; thou slialt kiss the child asleep. 

And dry the moistened curls that overspread 

His temples, while his breathing grows more deep : 

And they who stand about the sick man's bed, 
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sw^eep, 

And softly part his curtains to allow 

Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. 

Go — but the circle of eternal change, 

Which is the life of Nature, shall restore. 

With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range, 
Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more ; 

Sweet odours in the sea-air, sweet and strange. 
Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore ; 

And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem 

He hears the rustling leaf and running stream. 

Here we present two more examples of these simple 
yet exquisite delineations of Nature, illumined with 
living light from the poet's own soul : — 

"INNOCENT CHILD AND SNOW-WHITE 
FLOWEE." 
Innocent child and snow-white flower ! 
Well are ye paired in your opening hour. 
Thus should the pure and the lovely meet, 
Stainless with stainless, and sweet with sweet. 



152 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

White as those leaves, just blown apart, 
Are the folds of thy own young heart, 
Guilty passion and cankering care 
Never have left their traces there. 

Artless one ! though thou gazest now 
O'er the white blossom with earnest brow, 
Soon will it tire thy childish eye ; 
Fair as it is, thou wilt throw it by. 

Throw it aside in thy weary hour, 
Throw to the ground the fair white flower; 
Yet, as thy tender years depart, 
Keep that white and innocent heart. 

TO THE FEINGED GENTIAN. 

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, 
And coloured with the heaven's own blue, 
That openest when the quiet light 
Succeeds the keen and frosty night. 

Thou comest not when violets lean 

O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen. 

Or columbines, in purple dressed, 

Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. 

Thou waitest late and com'st alone, 
When woods are bare and birds are flown, 
And frosts and shortening days portend 
The aged year is near his end. 

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 
Look through its fringes to the sky. 
Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall 
A flower from its cerulean wall. 

I would that thus, when I shall see 
The hour of death draw near to me, 
Hope, blossoming within my heart, 
May look to heaven as I depart. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 153 

Bryant was a scholar, and a student of other literatures 
than his own. He executed numerous translations from 
the Greek, Latin, Spanish, German, and Portuguese. 
Those from the Spanish, Longfellow, long ago, praised as 
rivalling the originals in beauty. Of his Homeric transla- 
tions, belonging to a later date, we shall afterwards speak. 
Meanwhile, here, we append three specimens of his short 
translations : — 

THE LIFE OF THE BLESSED. 

FROM THE SPANISH OF LUIS PONCE DE LEON. 

Eegion of life and light ! 
Land of the good whose earthly toils are o'er ! 

Nor frost nor heat may blight 

Thy vernal beauty, fertile shore, 
Yielding thy blessed fruits for evermore. 

There, without crook or sling, 
Walks the good shepherd ; blossoms white and red 

Bound his meek temples cling ; 

A.nd to sweet pastures led, 
The flock he loves, beneath his eye is fed 

He guides, and near him they 
Follow delighted, for he makes them go 

Where dwells eternal May, 

And heavenly roses blow, 
Deathless, and gathered but again to grow. 

He leads them to the height 
Named of the infinite and long-sought Good, 

And fountains of delight ; I 

And where his feet have stood 
Springs up, along the way, their tender food. 

And when, in the mid skies. 
The climbing sun has reaclu d his highest bound, 
Beposing as he lies, 



154 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

With all his flock around, 
He witches the still air with numerous sound. 

"From his sweet lute flow forth 
Immortal harmonies, of power to still 

All passions born of earth, 

And draw the ardent will 
Its destiny of goodness to fulfil. 

Might but a little part, 
A wandei-ing breath of that high melody, 

Descend into my heart. 

And change it till it be 
Transformed and swallowed up, oh love, in thee ! 

Ah ! then my soul should know. 
Beloved ! where thou liest at noon of day. 
And from this place of woe 
Eeleased, should take its way 
To mingle with thy flock and never stray. 



LOYE IN THE AGE OF CHIYALEY. 

FROM PEYRE VIDAL, THE TROUBADOUR. 

The earth was sown with early flowers, 

The heavens were blue and bright — ^ 
I met a youthful cavalier 

As lovely as the light. 
I knew him not — but in my heart 

His graceful image lies. 
And well I marked his open brow, 

His sweet and tender eyes. 
His ruddy lips that ever smiled, 

His glittering teeth betwixt. 
And flowing robe embroidered o'er, 

With leaves and blossoms mixed. 
He wore a chaplet of the rose ; 

His palfrey, white and sleek. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 155 

Was marked with many an ebon spot, 

And many a pmple streak ; 
Of jasper was his saddle-bow, 

His housings sapphire stone, 
And brightly in his stirrup glanced 

The jmrple calcedon. 
Fast rode the gallant cavalier, 

As youthful horsemen ride ; 
" Peyre Vidal ! know that I am Love," 

The blooming stranger cried; 
" And this is Mercy by my side, 

A dame of high degree ; 
This maid is Chastity," he said, 
" This squire is Loyalty." 

THE LOVE OF GOD. 

FROM THE PROVENCAL OF BERNARD RASCAS. 

All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away, 
Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye. 
The forms of men shall be as they had never been ; 
The blasted groves shall lose their fresh and tender green ; 
The birds of the thicket shall end their pleasant song, 
And the nightingale shall cease to chant the evening long ; 
The kine of the pasture shall feel the dart that kills, 
And all the fair white flocks shall perish from the hills. 
The goat and antlered stag, the wolf and the fox. 
The wild-boar of the wood, and the chamois of the rocks, 
And the strong and fearless bear, in the trodden dust shall lie; 
And the dolphin of the sea, and the mighty whale, shall die. 
And realms shall be dissolved, and empires be no more. 
And they shall bow to death, who ruled from shore to shore ; 
And the great globe itself, so the holy writings tell. 
With the rolling firmament, where the starry armies dwell. 
Shall melt with fervent heat — they shall all pass away. 
Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye. 



11 



156 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 



CHAPTER IX. 

1834-1857 : Bbyant's Fikst Foue Visits to the Old Woeld, and 
HIS Teavels in Ameeica — Delivees Addeesses on Cole 

AND CoOPEB — CeDAEMEEE AND HIS HOME-LIFE. 

Visits Europe in 1834 — Alpine Snow-storm— Eeturns Home in 1836— The 
Prairies— The Fountain— The Future Life— Visit to the Southern States 
and New England— The White-footed Deer— Purchases an Estate on Long 
Island— In 1845 sees England for the First Time— Meets Samuel Rogers- 
Suggests Central Park— The Scottish Highlands— On his Pveturn Improves 
Cedarmere— A Poet's Home— Poe's Sketch of Bryant— Illustrated Edition 
of his Poems— American Travels — Cole the Artist — Visits Southern States 
and Cuba in 1849— Tropical Vegetation— Cuban Mode of Burial— Visit to 
Europe — Switzerland — Heturns Home— Visit to Cuba, Europe, and the 
Holy Land in 1854— New Edition of his Poems— Happy Home-life. 

In the summer of 1834, Bryant, feeling that he needed 
relaxation, and that he was now able to arrange for get- 
ting it, left the management of the Evening Post in the 
hands of Leggett, his assistant, and sailed for Havre with 
his wife and family. On reaching the Old World, the 
air of antiquity and the mediaeval aspect of churches, 
public buildings, and mansions, greatly impressed him, 
as it generally does educated Americans, who, for the first 
time, actually see what has been long familiar to their 
minds through books. 

He reached Paris in August, and, after spending a few 
weeks there, he set out for Florence. His journey from 
the French capital to Chalons-on-the-Saone, is thus de- 
scribed : — 

"Monotonous plains, covered with vineyards and wheat- 
fields, with very few trees, and those spoiled by being lopped 
for fuel ; sunburnt women, driving carts, or at work in the 
fields; gloomy, cheerless-looking towns, with narrow, filthy 
streets; troops of beggars surrounding your carriage when- 
ever you stop, or whenever the nature of the roads obliges the 
horses to walk, and chanting their request in the most doleful 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 157 

whine imaginable — sucn are the sights and sounds that meet 
you for the greater part of two hundred and fifty miles. 
There are, however, some excej)tions as to the aspect of the 
country. Auton, one of the most ancient towns in France, 
and yet retaining some remains of Roman architecture, lies in 
a beautiful and picturesque region. A little beyond that town 
we ascended a hill by a road winding along a glen, the rocky 
sides of which were clothed with an unpruned wood ; and a 
clear stream ran dashing over the stones, now on one side of 
the road, and then on the other — the first instance of a brook 
left to follow its natural channel which I had seen in France. 
Two young Frenchmen, who were our fellow-passengers, were 
wild with delight at this glimpse of unspoiled nature. They 
followed the meanderings of. the stream, leaping from rock to 
rock, and shouting till the woods rang again." 

In Florence, his v/indows overlooked the Bridge of the 
Arno, commanding a view of the magnificent landscape. 
Thoroughly appreciating the new features of the scenery, 
he nevertheless maintained his constant habit of indepen- 
dent and accurate observation : — " There is a great deal 
of prattle," he says, " about Italian skies. The skies and 
clouds of Italy, so far as I have had an opportunity of 
judging, do not present so great a variety of beautiful 
appearances as our own; but the Italian atmosphere is 
far more uniformly fine than ours." This accuracy gives 
a freshness and power to his descriptions, whether in 
poetry or prose, at home or abroad: — "He is original," 
says Emerson, " because he is sincere — a true painter of 
the face of this country, and of the sentiment of his own 
people. It is his proper praise, that he first, and he only, 
made known to mankind our northern landscape — its 
summer splendour, its autumn russet, its winter lights 
and glooms." 

From Florence he proceeded to Pisa, visited Yolterra, 
sojourned in Rome and Naples, saw Venice, and then 



158 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

journeyed nortliward through the Tyrol. The following 
is his account of a June snow-storm in the Alps : — 

"As we advanced," he says, "the clouds began to roll off 
from the landscape, disclosing here and there, through open- 
ings in their broad skirts as they swept along, glimpses of the 
profound valleys below us, and of the white sides and summits 
of mountains in the mid-sky above. At length the sun ap- 
peared, and revealed a prospect of such wildness, grandeur, 
and splendour, as I had never before seen. Lofty peaks of the 
most fantastic shapes, with deep clefts between, sharp needles 
of rock, and overhanging crags, infinite in multitude, shot up 
everywhere around us, glistening in the new-fallen snow, with 
their wreaths of mist creeping along their sides. At intervals, 
swollen torrents, looking at a distance like long trains of foam, 
came thundering down the mountains, and, crossing the road, 
plunged into the verdant valleys which winded beneath. Beside 
the highway were fields of young grain, pressed to the ground 
with the snow ; and, in the meadows, ranunculuses of the size 
of roses, large yellow violets, and a thousand other Alpine 
flowers of the most brilliant hues, were peeping through their 
white covering. We stopped to breakfast at a place called 
Landro, a solitary inn, in the midst of this grand scenery, with 
a little chapel beside it. The water from the dissolving snow 
was dripping merrily from the roof in a bright June sun." 

Descending into the valleys of the Tyrol, he proceeded 
to visit Innsbrack and Munich,^ where he remained for 
some time. . ,„ 

1 Those who wish information regarding Munich, the art capital of Bavaria, 
and the great works of Kaulbach to be seen there, ought to read The Art 
Student in Munich, by Mrs. Alfred A. Watts, the eldest daughter of Wm. and 
Mary Howitt. Of this admirable and delightful work, we are glad to see that 
a new edition, with additional chapters, has just been issued by Messrs. 
Thomas De La Eue & Co., in two volumes. Besides being serviceable as a 
high-class and picturesque guide-book to the scenery, art, and life around 
her, much, that is personally very interesting, is told us about Kaulbach, the 
great master under whom she studied, "with his unbounded imagination, 
philosophic thought, and studious research." The whole work, written in 
good terse racy English, is a valuable and permanent addition to the art 
literature of the world.— A. J, S. 



LIFE SKETCH OP WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 159 

Bryant had intended to remain in Munich for a longer 
period, and to spend several years in Europe, both for 
the education of his children, and with a view to his own 
improvement in the study of modern languages; but, 
intelligence reaching him, that Leggett, his editorial 
assistant, was ill, he required at once to hasten home- 
wards, and he arrived in Ncav York in 1836, after an 
absence of nearly two years. 

Although Leggett's illness had not occurred, Bryant 
did not return any too soon, for he found that the Post, 
through Leggett's rashness and want of tact in carrying 
out what he properly deemed improvements, had got 
somewhat into disfavour with many of its supporters. 
However, by dint of his wonted prudence and diligence, 
Bryant soon re-established confidence, and restored the 
paper to its former prosperous and influential position. 

From 1836 to 1845 he was at home, and hard at work. 
In 1841 Bryant visited the prairies of Illinois, "then the 
abode of prairie-wolves and rough settlers, with whom 
lynch-law was a necessary safeguard to the honest portion 
of the community." His experiences were recorded 
in the Post; and he has also vividly pictured the prairies 
— " these gardens of the desert " — in several of his poems. 
This year, he collected the letters which, from time to 
time, he had sent to the Post, and published them under 
the title of "Letters of a Traveller from Europe." 

In 1842 a volume, called The Fountain, and other Poems, 
appeared. It contained, amongst others, " The Winds," 
"The Green Mountain Boys," "The Death of Schiller," 
"Life," "A Presentiment," "The Future Life," and "An 
Evening Reverie " — the poems of seventeen years. 

The most remarkable of these is the "The Future 
Life," vmtten to his wife about twenty years after his 
marriage^ and which calmly, tenderly, and exquisitely 



160 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

sets forth the depth and beauty of their mutual affection. 
Every line that he ever "vvrote was sincere, and, in the 
seventh verse, the self-restraint which he habitually 
exercised, and which was at times apt to be mistaken for 
coolness of temperament, is incidentally revealed. 

THE FUTUEE LIFE. 

How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps 

The disembodied spirits of the dead, 
When all of thee that time could wither sleeps 

And perishes among the dust we tread ? 

For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain 
If there I meet thy gentle presence not; 

Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again 
In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. 

Will not thy own meek heart demand me there ? 

That heai-t whose fondest throbs to me were given— 
My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, 

And wilt thou never utter it in heaven ? 

In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind, 
In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, 

And larger movements of the unfettered mind. 
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here? 

The love that lived through all the stormy past, 
And meekly with my harsher nature bore, 

And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last, 
Shall it expire with life and be no more ? 

A happier lot than mine, and larger light. 

Await thee there, for thou hast bowed thy will 

In cheerful homage to the rule of right. 
And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. 

For me, the sordid cares in which. I dwell 

Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll; 

And wrath has left its scar — that fire of hell 
Has left its frightful scar upon my soul. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. IGl 

Yet, though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, 
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name, 

The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye, 
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same? 

Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home, 
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this — 

The wisdom which is love — till I become 
Thy fit companion in that land of bliss? 

In the spring of 1843, he made a journey through the 
Southern States, visiting Washington, Kichmond, Charles- 
ton, Savannah, and St. Augustine. The country and 
people were described in letters to the Post. On his 
return, he visited New England, and noted down his 
experiences, as was his wont, and these were also sub- 
sequently given in Letters of a Traveller. 

In 1844 he published another volume, under the title 
of The White-footed Deer, and other Poems, opening with a 
simple ballad tale. 

In 1845, before setting out for Europe, Bryant pur- 
chased an estate on Long Island, the mansion on it, dating 
from 1787, contained many large old-fashioned rooms. 
It was finely situated on the top of the hills, surrounded 
by old trees, green fields, and streams, and commanding 
a magnificent view of the bay. The poet saw its fine 
capabilities, and resolved to repair the house and improve 
the grounds, which he afterwards did. 

The Evening Post was now in so prosperous a condition, 
that Bryant felt he might safely venture to leave it for a 
time in the care of others, and again visit Europe. So in 
1845 he set sail for Liverpool, now seeing England for 
the first time. On reaching London a breakfast was 
given in his honour by Edward Everett, who was then 
the American minister at St. James'; and among those 
present were Samuel Eogers, Moore, and Kenyon. 



162 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Eogers and Bryant took to each other, from the first, 
and became friends. At a breakfast in Eogers' house, 
Bryant subsequently met Eastlake, Monkton Milnes (now 
Lord Houghton), Poole, the author of Paul Pry, and 
other celebrities. 

As a matter of course, Bryant visited the Eoyal 
Academy Exhibition, and other art collections of the 
Metropolis. 

A letter which he, at this time, wrote from London to 
the Post, after visiting the parks, was the means of 
originating Central Park in New York. From it we 
quote the following paragraph addressed to the inhabit- 
ants of New York : — 

" The population of your city, increasing with such prodi- 
gious rapidity, your sultry summers, and the corrupt atmo- 
sjohere generated in hot and crowded streets, make it a cause 
of regret, that, in laying out New York, no prei3aration was 
made, while it was yet practicable, for a range of parks and 
public gardens along the central part of the island or else- 
where, to remain perpetually for the refreshment and recrea- 
tion of the citizens during the torrid heats of the warm season. 
There are yet unoccupied lands on the island which might, T 
suppose, be procured for the purpose, and w^hich, on account 
of their rocky and uneven surface, might be laid out into 
surpassingly beautiful pleasure-grounds; but, while we are 
discussing the subject, the advancing population of the city is 
sweeping over them, and covering them from our reach." 

Bryant then visited Edinburgh, which he considered 
the finest city he had ever seen, Stirling, Bannockburn, 
and Falkirk, and made a tour through the Highlands, 
paying special attention to the scenes of Scott's Lady of 
the Lake. 

From Glasgow, he went to the Land of Burns. Then, 
after seeing Belfast and Dublin, he proceeded to the 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 1G3 

Continent, travelling through France, the Netherlands, 
Germany, Belgium, and Italy. 

At the end of the year (1845) he returned home to 
New York, and at once set about the improvement of his 
lately purchased country house on Long Island, near 
Eoslyn, and now known as Cedarmere. He removed the 
heavy porticoes and pillars of the old square house, and 
replaced them with light lattice work for training vines 
and other climbing plants upon, threw out bay windows 
on both sides of the mansion, added some picturesque 
and irregular out-buildings, and began to plant fruit-trees 
and shrubbery. This old house situated on the hills, em- 
bosomed in venerable trees and greenery, surrounded 
with shrubs and flowers, and commanding beautiful views, 
with picturesque reaches of land and water, he converted 
into the very ideal of a poet's home. Professor Hill 
speaks of it thus : " Though sheltered by the hills on the 
north, the windows of the mansion command a noble 
landscape, in which green fields, the bright waters of the 
bay, and the sails of the vessels on its bosom, blend in a 
picture of surpassing loveliness. A broad green lawn 
below the house rims ' the little lake,' that flows into a 
stream between banks of flowering shrubs and tangled 
evergreens. The waters turn a little mill, housed in 
what seems to be a Swiss cottage overrun with vines, till 
the music of its machinery corrects the illusion of the eye 
through the perception of the ear. In the garden a small 
conservatory protects the blooming exotics during the 
cold season of the year, and numerous hot-beds assist the 
tender plants in spring. On the slope beyond the garden 
stands a 

* lofty group 

Of ancient pear-trees, that with spring-time burst 

Into such breadth of bloom,' 



164 LIFE SKETCH OP WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

beneath whose branches the poet enjoyed his "annual 
festival of bees,' and ' songs of birds within their leafy- 
screen.' Here is the swing for the little people of the 
neighbourhood; and every year, when the season of 
fruitage came, the poet would sit and hear 

' shouts 
Of joy from the children gathering up the fruit 
Shaken iu August from the willing boughs.' 

" On the hill above the mansion are apple-trees planted 
by the poet's own hand, with sombre evergreens and 
stately maples. From among these trees, celebrated in 
the poet's verses, we look away over the wooded hills far 
out on the waters of the bay, dotted with white sails, and 
ploughed by the majestic steamers that move like vast 
swans upon its surface, till the clouds and the low hills 
beyond limit our vision with a dim horizon." 

Of a visit, paid to his friend the poet. General James 
Grant Wilson writes : — " Cedarmere is an extensive estate, 
and rich in a great variety of trees. As I was walking 
on a sunny October afternoon with the poet through his 
loved domain, he pointed out a Spanish chestnut-tree 
laden with fruit, and, springing lithely on a fence despite 
his seventy-six summers, caught an open burr hanging 
from one of the lower branches, opened it, and, jumping 
down with the agility of a youth, handed to his city 
guest the contents, consisting of two as large chestnuts as 
I ever saw in Spain. The Madeira and Pecan nuts were 
also successfully cultivated by him at Cedarmere. During 
another walk, Mr. Bryant gave a jump and caught the 
branch of a tree vdth his hands, and, after swinging 
backward and forward several times with his feet raised, 
he swung himself over a fence without touching it." 

And Curtis, in his Homes of American Authors, says: — 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. ERYANT. 1G5 

"So we willingly follow Mr. Bryant to Eoslyn; see him 
musing on the pretty rural bridge that spans the fish- 
pond, or taking the oar in his daughter's fairy boat, or 
pruning trees, or talking over farm matters with his 
neighbours, or . . . sitting calm and happy in his 
pleasant library, surrounded by the friends he loves to 
draw around him, or listening to the prattle of infant 
voices, quite as much at home there as under their own 
more especial roof, — his daughter's, — within the same 
inclosure." 

The rooms were filled with objects of interest which he 
had brought from many lands. On the walls hung choice 
paintings and engravings; while his library was select. 
Bryant, General James Grant Wilson informs us, " alter- 
nated recreations of tree-planting and pruning and other 
rural occupations with his literary labour. Not extensive, 
but excellent in wide and judicious selections, was his 
library of several thousand volumes. The poet's know- 
ledge of ancient and living languages enabled him to add 
with advantage to his collection of books the works of 
the best French, German, Italian, and Spanish authors." 

At Cedarmere, he kept his most valuable books; there 
he continued to write his poems, and thither travellers, 
statesmen, and distinguished men resorted " to pay their 
respects to the sage, philosopher, and author. They were 
always welcomed, and enjoyed the purity of taste and 
simplicity of manner which presided over the mansion." 

Shortly after Bryant's return from Europe, Edgar 
Allen Poe, who was then writing articles on The Literati 
of New York, gave the world the following pen-and-ink 
sketch of Bryant :— 

"He is now fifty-two years of age. In height he is, perhaps, 
five feet nine. His frame is rather robust. His features are 
large, but thin. His countenance is sallow, nearly bloodless. 



166 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

His eyes are piercing gray, deep set, witli large projecting 
eyebrows. His mouth is wide and massive; the expression 
of the smile hard, cold, even sardonic. The forehead is broad, 
with prominent organs of ideality ; a good deal bald ; the hair 
thin and grayish ; as are also the whiskers, which he wears in 
a simple style. His bearing is quite distinguished, full of the 
aristocracy of intellect. In general, he looks in better health 
than before his last visit to England. He seems active — phy- 
sically and morally energetic. His dress is plain to the ex- 
treme of simplicity, although of late there is a certain degree 
of Anglicism about it. 

" In character no man stands more lofty than Bryant. The 
peculiarly melancholy expression of his countenance has caused 
him to be accused of harshness, or coldness of heart. Never 
was there a gi-eater mistake. His soul is charity itself, in all 
respects generous and noble. His manners are undoubtedly 
reserved." 

In 1846 his collected poems were printed at Phila- 
delphia in a handsome edition, illustrated by Leutze. 

His foreign travels made him desirous to see more of 
his own country, and he took many excursions in the 
United States during the next three years, some of them 
occupying several months. The usual letters in the Post, 
giving the result of his observation, are dated from the 
great lakes of the north-west, the towns of Pennsylvania, 
the forests of Maine, and the mountains of New Hampshire. 

" They tell of days when the lumbering stage-coach was 
the principal conveyance between the towns of Illinois, 
and describe great cities as new settlements; and these 
are the letters of a traveller then past the meridian of 
life, and who was living but yesterday!" 

In 1848, on the death of Cole the artist, one of his early 
friends, Bryant was called upon to deliver a commemor- 
ative oration before the National Academy of Design, and 
this was probably his first appearance of that kind. To 



LIFE SKETCH OP WILLIAM C. ERYANT. 167 

this artist the poet had formerly addressed the following 
characteristic lines : — 

TO COLE, THE PAINTEE, DEPAETING FOE 
EUEOPE. 

Thine eyes shall see the light of distant skies; 

Yet, Cole! thy heart shall bear to Europe's strand 
A living image of our own bright land, 

Such as upon thy glorious canvas lies ; 

Lone lakes — savannas where the bison roves — 

Eocks rich wath summer garlands — solemn streams — 
Skies, where the desert eagle wheels and screams — 

Spring bloom and autumn blaze of boundless groves. 

Pair scenes shall greet thee where thou goest — fair. 
But different — everywhere the trace of men, 
Paths, homes, graves, ruins, from the lowest glen 

To where life shrinks from the fierce Alpine air, 

Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight, 
But keep that earlier, wilder image bright. 

In the spring of 1849 Bryant made a tour in the South, 
visiting Savannah, Augusta, and Charleston, from which 
last port he sailed for Cuba. His letters thence are full 
of accurate delineations of men and manners, and of vivid 
pictures of natural scenery. Every feature of the land- 
scape and of vegetation is carefully noted. 

" If he describes a cottage, he is sure not to omit to 
mention 'the grove of plantains behind; a thicket of 
bamboo near the door, waving its willow-like sprays in 
the wind; a pair of mango-trees near, hung with fruit 
just ripening, and reddish blossoms just opening; and a 
cocoa-tree or two, lifting high above the rest its immense 
feathery leaves and its clusters of green nuts.' His pages 
are overrun with vines, and fragrant with tropical blos- 
soms. He, who loved the fringed gentian and the yellow 
violet that grew in the dells and on the hillsides at Cum- 



168 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C, BRYANT. 

mington, found his chief delight among the damask roses 
and orange-blossoms that bloomed on the bosom of the 
Queen of the Antilles." 

The Cuban mode of burial, — namely, "piling the 
dead bodies one upon another, coffinless, and without 
funeral service" — greatly impressed him, and, in the 
same key as that in which he wrote " Thanatopsis," after 
speaking of the prevalence of cock-fighting, before he 
leaves the subject he describes a throng of excited people 
"engaged in the brutal sport, with eager gestures and 
loud cries;" and he keeps thinking "how soon this- 
noisy crowd will lie in heaps in the pits of the Campo 
Santo." The graceful Spanish dances, "resembling the 
undulations of the sea in its gentlest moods," are men- 
tioned; but the dread thought still haunts him, and he 
cannot help thinking, as he looks on "the gay crowd, on 
the quaint maskers, and the dancers, whose flexible limbs 
seem swayed to and fro by the breath of the music," that 
all this must soon end at the Campo Santo. 

From Havannah he went to see the coffee-estates of 
San Antonio and the sugar-plantations of Matanzas, re- 
turning to New York in May. 

This same summer (1849) he went to Europe for the 
third time, and we find him visiting Art Galleries in 
London, and again meeting his friend Samuel Eogers. 
On this visit, he went north to Orkney and Shetland. 

Eeturning through Scotland, he visited Paris, Germany, 
and Switzerland. On entering the latter Eepublic, he 
rejoiced at reaching a land of freedom, after the scenes of 
oppression he had witnessed in countries overrun with 
soldiers and under military rule, at a time when the Hun- 
garian republic was overthrown through the treachery of 
Gorgey, and when Kossuth had to take refuge in Turkey. 
He says, he could "almost have kneeled and kissed the 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 1vj9 

shore of the hospitable republic. And really it was 
beautiful enough," he adds, " for such a demonstration of 
affection; for nothing could be lovelier than the de- 
clivities of that shore, with its woods and orchards and 
grassy meadows, and green hollows running upward to 
the mountain-tcp3, all fresh with a shower which had 
just passed, and now glittering in the sunshine, and 
interspersed with large Swiss houses bearing quaintly- 
carved galleries and broad overhanging roofs; while, to 
the east, rose the glorious summits of the Alps, mingling 
with the clouds." 

From Geneva, he returned, by Lyons, to Paris in the 
month of September; and recrossed the Atlantic that 
autumn (1849), to resume his editorial duties, and settle 
for a time at home. Shortly after his return, the interest- 
ing letters which he had sent to the Post during his 
travels were collected and published, in 1850, under the 
title of '■^Letters of a Traveller, or Notes of Things seen in 
Europe and America," 

In December, 1851, he presided at the banquet given 
by the press of New York to Kossuth, who had himself 
been an editor in Hungary. 

Early in the following year (1852), the more solemn 
duty devolved on him of delivering a discourse on the 
life and writings of his friend Cooper, the novelist. 

In the spring of this year he again paid a short visit to 
Cuba, and Europe, — extending his tour to the Holy Land. 

In 1854 a new edition of his collected poems was pub- 
lished in two volumes. At this period — with the exception 
of the short visit to the West Indies, Europe, and the 
East, in 1852 — for about seven years, he was chiefly at 
home in the enjoyment of books, nature, and domestic joy. 

He had regularly every day to spend a few hours at 
the office of the Post, and, when his work there was done, 



170 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

he had his peaceful happy home hfe, apart from politics, 
or even from worldly cark and care. 



CHAPTER X. 

1857-1866: Visits Eueope— His Baptism at Naples — Wife's 
Illness and Recovery — Addresses — Cummington — Seven- 
tieth Birth-day Presentation — Lincoln — Death of his 
Wipe. 

Fifth Visit to Europe— Spain— Grenada— Naples— His Baptism— Religious 
Life— His Wife's Hlness— The Life that is— Returns Home— Letters from 
Spain— Schiller Festival- Irving Address— Refuses Official Appointments 
—The Third of November— Thirty Poems— Cummington Estate— Hall at 
Eoslyn— Presentation on Seventieth Birth-day— Bryant's Reply— The 
Death of Lincoln- His Wife's Death, October 1866— May Evening. 

Early in 1857, Bryant made his fifth voyage to Europe, 
chiefly with the intention of travelling in Spain, and of 
sojourning for some months in that land of old romance 
and chivalry. 

On leaving Paris, he tells us that he made a leisurely 
journey, accompanied by his family, through Germany, 
Switzerland and Southern France; and, in the autumn, 
through the passes of the Pyrenees and the Basque 
Provinces, by diligence, sometimes slowly drawn through 
the grand scenery of these regions by teams of oxen. 

He took a month to reach Madrid, from San Sebastian, 
in the north of Spain, the party living in Spanish fashion. 
Thus they came into close contact with the people, seeing 
them in their own homes, and becoming familiar with 
the everyday aspect of their lives. 

At Madrid he was the guest of Mr. Dodge the Ameri- 
can minister, Mr. Calderon, and other distinguished 
people, and, during the three weeks of his stay there, he 
mingled with the best society of the capital. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 17 1 

Setting out from Madrid in November, at Alicante he 
left his family, and proceeded alone by steamer to Carta- 
gena, where he spent some days deciphering Roman in- 
scriptions, and seeing the numerous remains of Moorish 
architecture to be found there. On rejoining his family, 
they all embarked for Malaga. In December the party 
visited Grenada; and Bryant has given us the following 
charming description of this, the former seat of Moorish 
power and grandeur: — 

"The Alhambra was the summer palace of the Moorish 
monarchs ; a place of luxurious retreat from the relaxing heats 
of the season ; a place of shade and running waters ; courting 
the entrance of the winds under its arches and between its 
slender pillars, yet spreading a screen against the sunshine. 
To this end the stones of the quarry were shaded into a 
bower, with columns as light as the stems of the orange-trees 
planted in its courts, and walls incrusted with scroll-work and 
foliage as delicate as the leaves of the myrtle growing by its 
fountains. Yet the most remarkable parts of the Alhambra 
are those lofty rooms with circular vaults, from which hang 
innumerable little points like icicles, with rounded recesses 
between them. These are as strangely beautiful as a dream, 
and translate into a visible reality the poetic idea of a sparry 
cavern formed by genii in the chambers of the rock." 

From Grenada, noted for its ugly streets and beautiful 
women, the party returned to Malaga, and thence, sailing 
across to Algiers, and seeing something of the Algerine 
coast, they proceeded to Marseilles. 

The winter of 1858 v/as spent in Italy, chiefly in the 
neighbourhood of Naples, and his residence there was 
marked by two memorable events, namely — his own bap- 
tism, and his wife's recovery from a serious illness. In 
regard to the first : — He had been religiously brought up 
in the Congregational Church of New England, and, 
12 



172 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

always revering Bible truth, and strictly observing the 
moralities of life, he was essentially a religious man. 

We may here state that when Bryant first moved to 
New York, personally attracted by the amiable and gifted 
Eev. WiUiam Ware, well known in literature by his 
Letters from Palmyra, he went to the little Unitarian 
chapel in Chambers' Street, off Broadway, of which that 
gentleman was pastor. He afterwards attended the 
Second Church, of which Dr. Dewy and Dr. Osgood were 
successively ministers. Then, finding that his old parish 
church, "All Souls'," of which the Eev. Dr. Bellows was 
pastor, was geographically more convenient for him, he 
went there. At Eoslyn he worshipped for eighteen years 
in the Presbyterian Church (of which his wife was a 
member), under the ministry of the Eev. Dr. Ely. He 
never advanced views at variance with the creed of this 
church, where he always partook of the Lord's Supper, 
and he ever took a deep and practical interest in its 
prosperity. It was at Dr. Ely's request that Bryant wrote 
the hymns which were printed for private circulation. 
But, to resume the narrative in regard to his baptism: 
— At Naples he met an old acquaintance, the Eev. E. C. 
Waterston, of Boston, who, with his family, was living 
for a time in Italy. In their rambles, they were often 
thrown together; and one day, "in the month of April," 
says Curtis, " after a long walk with his friend, the Eev. 
Mr. Waterston, of Boston, on the shore of the Bay of 
Naples, he spoke with softened heart of the new beauty 
that he felt in the old truth, and proposed to his friend 
to baptize him. With prayer and hymn and spiritual 
meditation, a little company of seven, says Mr. Waterston, 
in a large upper room, as in the Christian story, partook 
of the communion, and with his good gray head bowed 
down, Bryant was baptized." 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 173 

The whole of his life testifies to the deep sincerity of 
his modest profession. 

The son of Dr. Ely writes, that his late father always 
"looked upon Mr. Bryant as one who, took Christ as his 
only Saviour, and his example as his only pattern." The 
Kev. Dr. Bellows, after bearing strong and clear testi- 
mony to his devout reverence, charity, practical piety, 
and working virtue, and to the increasing sweetness and 
beneficence of his character, says : — " Nobody so regular 
in his attendance on public worship, in wet and dry, cold 
and heat, morning and evening, until the very last month 
of his life." 

As to the other memorable event at Naples : — Shortly 
after his baptism, his Avife was attacked by a nervous 
fever which prostrated her to such a degree that her life 
was despaired of, and Bryant had to walk in the Valley 
of the Shadow of Death. The house in which they lived 
commanded a fine view of the Bay of Naples; but the dis- 
trict was badly drained, and also exposed to the noxious 
gases which rose from such sewers as did reach the beach. 
These were the causes of an illness which nearly proved 
fatal. However, on her being removed from the shore 
to the higher garden grounds behind, she at once began, 
gradually, to recover. On her restoration to health, the 
poet gave utterance to the thoughtful, joyous feelings of 
his heart, in a song of gladness, written at Castellamare in 
his sixty-fourth year, and called 

THE LIFE THAT IS. 

Thou, who so long hast pressed the couch of pain, 
Oh welcome, welcome back to life's free breath — 

To life's free breath and day's sweet light again, 
Fiom the chill shadows of the gate of death ! 

For thou hadst reached the twilight bound between 
The world of spirits and this grosser sphere; 



174 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Dimly by tliee, the things of earth were seen, 
And faintly fell earth's voices on thine ear. 

And now, how gladly we behold, at last, 
The wonted smile returning to thy brow; 

The very wind's low whisper, breathing past, 
In the light leaves, is music to thee now. 

Thou wert not weary of thy lot; the earth 
Was ever good and pleasant in thy sight ; 

Still clung thy loves about the household hearth^ 
And sweet was every day's returning light. 

Then welcome back to all thou wouldst not leave, 
To this grand march of seasons, days, and hours ; 

The glory of the morn, the glow of eve, 

The beauty of the streams, and stars, and flowers ; 

To eyes on which thine own delight to rest ; 

To voices which it is thy joy to hear ; 
To the kind toils that ever pleased thee best, 

The willing tasks of love, that made life dear. 

Welcome to grasp of friendly hands ; to prayers 
Offered where crowds in reverent worship come. 

Or softly breathed amid the tender cares 
And loving inmates of thy quiet home. 

Thou bring'st no tidings of the better land. 

Even from its verge ; the mysteries opened there 

Are what the faithful heart may understand 
In its still depths, yet words may not declare. 

And well I deem, that, from the brighter side 
Of life's dim border, some o'erflowing rays 

Streamed from the inner glory, shall abide 
Upon thy spirit through the coming days. 

Twice wert thou given me ; once in thy fair prime. 
Fresh from the fields of youth, when first we met, 

And all the blossoms of that hopeful time 

Clustered and glowed where'er thy steps were set. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 175 

And now, in thy ripe autumn, once again 

Given back to fervent prayers and yearnings strong, 

From the drear realm of sickness and of pain 

When we had watched, and feared, and trembled long. 

Now may we keep thee from the balmy air 
And radiant walks of heaven a little space, 

Where He, who went before thee to prepare 
For his meek followers^ shall assign thy place. 

" Early in the summer, Bryant and his family passed 
through the cities of Northern Italy to England, and in 
August returned to their home at Eoslyn, after an ab- 
sence of more than a year. The letters written to the 
Post during this period were collected in a volume, and 
published in the following year under the title of Letters 
from SjMin and Other Countries. 

In this volume there is a touching account of the death 
of the daughter of his friend Mr. Waterston at Naples; 
a description of a floral exhibition; and a life-like picture 
of San Sebastian. How beautifully he records the im- 
pressions produced on his mind by a sight of the Atlantic ! 

" We took places the other morning in the diligence that 
travels between Bayonne and San Sebastian, and passing a 
long alley of trees, and leaving behind the belt of handsome 
country seats by which Bayonne is environed, we ascended a 
height from which we saw the Atlantic Ocean spread before 
us. In green and purple it lay, its distant verge blended and 
lost in the mists of the horizon. I cannot describe the feeling 
awakened within me as I gazed on that great w^aste of waters 
which in one of its inlets steeped the walls of my own garden, 
and to the murmur of which on a distant shore, those I loved 
were doubtless at that moment slumbering. From time to 
time, as we went on, we descended out of sight of the sea, and 
rose again to see it flinging its white breakers against the land. 
The peaks of the Pyrenees were all the while in full view, and we 
were approaching the region where their western buttresses pre- 



176 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

sent an eternal barrier against the assaults of the ocean, which, 
to the north of them have hollowed out the Gulf of Gascony." 

After describing the Campo Santo, or Cemetery of 
Bologna, as "the most sumptuous repository for the 
dead" which he ever saw, the author of " Thanatopsis" 
adds: — "So sleep the dead at Bologna. Their city is 
built with arcades on the streets; they w^alk all their 
lives under arcades; they are carried under arcades to 
their graves, and are laid under arcades in death." 

On his return to New York from Europe, in November, 
1859, he delivered an address at the Schiller Festival; 
pronouncing a just and glowing eulogy on the great Ger- 
man poet^whose works he admired. In 1860, he delivered 
a commemorative oration on Washington Irving, which 
was "a noble review of a beautiful and beneficent life." 

He was repeatedly urged to accept honourable and 
lucrative offices and missions, both by Lincoln and Grant; 
but, being a journalist, and wishing to preserve his inde- 
pendence of judgment and freedom of comment, he in- 
variably refused them. In early days, at Great Barring- 
ton, he had been town-clerk and a justice of the peace; 
and this year he had accepted the position of being made 
a presidential elector, and voted for Lincoln. With these 
exceptions, the last being merely honorary, he held no 
other government appointments. 

In 1861, Bryant wrote "The Third of November," a 
sweet autumnal and autobiographical poem, which elo- 
quently speaks of his great love of nature : — 

THE THIED OF NOVEMBEE, 1861. 

Softly breathes the west- wind beside the ruddy forest 
Taking leaf by leaf from the branches where he flies. 

Sweetly streams the sunshine, this third day of November, 
Through the golden haze of the quiet autumn skies. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 177 

Tenderly tlie season has spared the grassy meadows, 

Spared the petted flowers that the old world gave the new-, 

S]3ared the autumn-rose and the garden's group of pansies, 
Late-blown dandelions and periwinkles blue. 

On my cornice linger the ripe black grapes ungathered ; 

Children fill the groves with the echoes of their glee, 
Gathering tawny chestnuts, and shouting when beside them 

Drops the heavy fruit of the tall black -walnut tree. 

Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, 
Yet our full-leaved willows are in their freshest green. 

Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing 

With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen. 

Like this kindly season may life's decline come o'er me ; 

Past is manhood's summer, the frosty months are here ; 
Yet be genial airs and a pleasant sunshine left me, 

Leaf, and fruit, and blossom, to mark the closing year ! 

Dreary is the time when the flowers of earth are withered; 

Dreary is the time when the woodland leaves are cast — 
When, upon the hillside, all hardened into iron, 

Howling, like a wolf, flies the famished northern blast. 

Dreary are the years when the eye can look no longer 
With delight on Nature, or hope on human kind ; 

Oh, may those that whiten my temples, as they pass me, 
Leave the heart unfrozen, and spare the cheerful mindi 

In 1863 he published a volume entitled Thirty Poems, 
which were the latest he had then written. It contained 
an experimental translation of the fifth book of Homer's 
Odyssey in blank verse. 

In 1864, Bryant completed the improvements of the 
old homestead on the estate at Cummington, which had 
passed out of the family thirty years before, but which 
many old endearing memories had induced him to pur- 
chase and fit up tastefully as a residence, although it was 
not the house in which he was born — that having been 



178 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

entirely removed, from a neighbouring corner, long before. 
The estate was now enlarged to four hundred acres, and 
he improved it by cultivation, and planted many yoimg 
trees to take the place of those that were hastening to 
decay. A quaint old building, it stands on a commanding 
knoll, in the midst of beautiful scenery, surrounded by 
old elms, greenery, and flower-beds. There is a back- 
ground of lofty hills, and, in the foreground, a rippling 
brook, fringed with wild flowers and ferns, sings, at its 
own SAveet will, suggesting both the mountains and the 
sea. 

To a friend, who requested information about the home 
of his boyhood, Bryant in 1872 wrote as follows: — 

" I am afraid that I cannot say much that will interest you 
or anybody else. A hundred years since this broad highland 
region lying between the Housatonic and the Connecticut was 
principally forest, and bore the name of Pontoosuc. In a few 
places settlers had cleared away woodlands, and cultivated the 
cleared spots. Bears, catamounts, and deer were not uncom- 
mon here. Wolves were sometimes seen, and the woods were 
dense and dark, without any natural openings or meadows. 
My grandfather on the mother's side came up from Plymouth 
County, in Massachusetts, when a young man, in the year 
1773, and chose a farm on a commanding site overlooking 
an extensive prospect, cut down the trees on a part of it, and 
built a house of square logs, with a chimney as large as some 
kitchens, within which I remember to have sat on a bench in 
my childhood. About ten years afterwards he purchased, 
of an original settler, the contiguous farm, now called the 
Bryant Homestead, and having built beside a little brook, not 
very far from a spring, from which water was to be drawn in 
pipes, the house, which is now mine, he removed to it with 
his family. The soil of this region was then exceedingly 
fertile, all the settlers prospered, and my grandfather among 
the rest. My father, a physician and surgeon, married his 
daughter, and after a while came to live with him on the 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 179 

homestead. He made some enlargements of the house, in one 
jmrt of which he had his office, and in this, during my boyhood, 
were generally two or three students of medicine, who some- 
times accompanied my father in his visits to his patients, 
always on horseback, which was the mode of travelling at that 
time. To this place my father brought me in my early child- 
hood, and I have scarce an early recollection which does not 
relate to it. 

" On the farm beside the little brook, and at a short distance 
from the house, stood the district school-house, of which 
nothing now remains but a little hollow where was once a 
cellar. Here I received my earliest lessons in learning, except 
such as were given me by my mother, and here, when ten 
years old, I declaimed a copy of verses composed by me as a 
description of a district school. The little brook which runs 
by the house, on the site of the old district school-house, was 
in after years made the subject of a little poem, entitled '■ The 
Eivulet.' To the south of the house is a wood of tall trees, 
clothing a declivity, and touching with its outermost boughs 
the grass of a moist meadow at the foot of the hill, which sug- 
gested the poem entitled ' An Inscription for the Entrance to 
a Wood.' 

"In the year 1835 the place passed out of the family; and 
at the end of thirty years I repurchased it, and made various 
repairs of the house and additions to its size. A part of the 
building which my father had added, and which contained 
his office, had, in the meantime, been detached from it, and 
moved off down a steep hill to the side of the Westfield Eiver. 
I supplied its place by a new wing, with the same external 
form, though of less size, in which is now my library. 

"The site of the house is uncommonly beautiful. Before 
it, to the east, the ground descends, first gradually, and then 
rapidly, to the Westfield Eiver, flowing in a deep and narrow 
valley, from which is heard, after a copious rain, the roar of 
its swollen current, itself unseen. In the spring-time, when 
the frost-bound waters are loosened by a warm rain, the roar 
and crash are remarkably loud, as the icy crust of the stream 
is broken, and the masses of ice are swept along by the flood 



180 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

over the stones with which the bed of the river is paved. 
Beyond the narrow valley of the Westfield the surface of the 
country rises again gradually, carrying the eye over a region of 
vast extent, interspersed with farm-houses, pasture-grounds, 
and wooded heights, where, on a showery day, you sometimes 
see two or three different showers, each watering its own 
separate district; and m winter-time two or three different 
snow-storms moving dimly from place to place. 

"The soil of the whole of this highland region is disintegrated 
mica slate, for the most part. It has its peculiar growth of 
trees, shrubs, and wild flowers, differing considerably from 
those of the eastern part of the state. In autumn the woods 
are peculiarly beautiful with their brightness and variety of 
hues. The higher farms of this region lie nearly two thousand 
feet above tide- water. The air is pure and healthful; the 
summer temperature is most agreeable ; but the spring is coy 
in her approaches, and winter often comes before he is bidden. 
No venomous reptile inhabits any part of this region, as I 
think there is no tradition of a rattlesnake or copperhead 
having been seen here." 

The Cummington homestead is elsewhere described, 
as " a spacious and rambling mansion of two stories and 
a half, with a curb-roof, antique dormer-windows, and 
broad porches curtained with clambering vines, and sur- 
rounded with a smooth-shaven lawn. Here the poet 
kept part of his library, and had a pleasant study; and 
here, in the latter years of his life, he spent the autumn 
among the variegated foliage of the forest-trees and the 
golden fruitage of his orchards. Here he founded a public 
library for the use of his rural neighbours, and built a 
substantial school-house for the education of their chil- 
dren. These benefactions were made without the 
slightest ostentation, and from the purest regard for the 
happiness and improvement of those around him." 

At Roslyn, he displayed a similar interest in the wants 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 181 

of tlie neiglibonrhood, and there, also, lie was regarded 
with respect and affection by all kinds of people. There, 
he built a beautiful hall for public uses. " When, at his 
request," says the Rev. Dr. Bellows, "I went to dedicate it, 
and at a proper moment asked, ' What shall we call this 
building'?' the audience shouted, 'Bryant Hall!' — 'No,' 
said the honest benefactor; ' let it be known and called 
simply 'The Hall:' and the 'The Hall' it was baptized." 

Few poets have been so favourably circumstanced as 
Bryant in regard to "local habitation" — to say nothing 
of "name;" for he possessed three dwelling-places — an 
elegant town residence in New York, and two in the 
country — Cummington, and Cedarmere near Roslyn, 
v/here he received his friends from far and near, and 
practically interested himself in the well-being of all 
whom his benign influence could reach. 

He usually spent from December to May, in New York 
city; from 1st May to end of July, in Eoslyn; and August 
and September, in Cummington. 

His carriages and horses were for his friends, as he 
himself nearly always preferred to walk. 

On November 5th, 1864, Bryant was honoured by the 
painters and poets of America holding a festival to com- 
memorate his seventieth birth-day, and presenting him 
with paintings and poems. The Century Club, of which 
he was one of the founding members, was selected as the 
most appropriate place for the offering. The congratu- 
latory address was delivered by Bancroft, who presided 
on the occasion; while, in addition to the poetical tributes 
which he received, the president of the National Academy 
addressed the venerable poet, and presented him with 
upwards of forty oil-paintings, all of them gifts from 
painters who were members of the Century Club. 



182 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

In replying to Bancroft's speech Bryant very happily 
said : — 

"I am congratulated on having completed my seventieth 
year. Is there nothing ambiguous, Mr. President, in such a 
compliment? — to be congratulated on having reached that 
stage of life when the bodily and mental powers pass into 
decline and decay ! Lear is made by Shakespeare to say, 

'Age is unnecessary.' 

And a later poet, Dr. Johnson, expressed the same idea in one 
of his sonorous lines, — 

' Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage.' 

You have not forgotten, Mr. President, the old Greek say- 
ing,— 

* Whom the gods love die young.' 

nor the passage in Shakespeare, — 

'O sir! the good die first, 
And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust 
Burn to the socket.' 

" What a world would this be if it w^ere made up of old 
men ! — generation succeeding to generation, of hoary ancients 
who had but half a dozen years, or perhaps half that time, to 
live! What new work would be attempted? what existing 
abuse or evil corrected ? What strange subjects would such a 
world afford for the pencils of our artists ! — groups of super- 
annuated graybeards basking in the sun through the long 
days of spring, or huddling like sheep in warm corners in the 
winter time ; houses with the timbers dropping apart ; cities 
in ruins; roads un wrought and impassable; weedy gardens, 
and fields with the surface feebly scratched to put in a scanty 
harvest ; feeble old men climbing into crazy wagons, perhaps 
to be run away with, or mounting horses, if they mounted 
them at all, in terror of being hurled from their backs, like a 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 183 

stone from a sling. Well it is tliat in tliis world of ours the 
old men are but a very small minority." 

The whole of the proceedings on this interesting occa- 
sion have been recorded and published in a little volume. 
In April, 1865, Bryant Vt^rote the following poem on 

THE DEATH OF LINCOLN. 

Oh, slow to smite and swift to spare, 

Gentle and merciful and just ! 
Who, in the fear of God, didst bear 

The sword of power, a nation's trust ! 

In sorrow by thy bier we stand. 

Amid the aw^e that hushes all, 
And speak the anguish of a land 

That shook with horror at thy fall. 

Thy task is done; the bond are free : 
We bear thee to an honoured grave, 

Whose proudest monument shall be 
The broken fetters of the slave. 

Pure was thy life ; its bloody close 

Hath placed thee with the sons of light, 

Among the noble host of those 
Who perished in the cause of Eight. 

On July 27th, 1866, Bryant was overshadowed by the 
one great sorrow of his life — the loss of her who had 
been his true wife and helpmate, the veritable sunshine 
of his active life, and the realized ideal of his fairest 
dreams. She passed away in peace, and was laid in the 
Eoslyn Cemetery, which is situated about a mile east of 
that village, and half a mile south of Cedarmere. It is on 
the western slope of a wooded hill, and surrounded by a 
hedge of evergreens. Within the inclosure are some fine 
beech, oak, and maple trees, and shrubbery. Near the 



184 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

western side rises a tall unpolished gray granite obelisk, 
on which was placed the following inscription:— 

Fanny Fairchild |Bryant;, 

The beloved wife of William Cullen Bryant, 

An humble disciple of Christ, 

Exemplary in every relation of life, 

Affectionate, sympathetic, sincere, 

And ever occupied with the welfare of others. 

Born March 27, 1797, 

Died July 27, 1866. 

Two grandchildren — the children of Parke Godwin — 
also lie buried within the inclosure. 

Richard H. Dana, in writing to a friend, on August 9th, 
1866, said:— 

"Dear Bryant, my fast friend of so many years. Sorrow 
and loss have come to him. He and his children have had 
taken from them the most wifely of wives, and most worthy 
of mothers — serenely cheerful, out of an affectionate heart, and 
infusing her own blessed spirit into you." 

Of her, as we have seen, Bryant had written, "Oh 
Fairest of the Eural Maids," "The Future Life," "The 
Life that isj" and, that same year, when the October sun 
fell on her grave, he wrote : — ■ 

" May we not think that near us thou Jost stand 
With loving ministrations 1 for we know 
Thy heart was never happy when thy hand 
"Was forced its tasks of mercy to forego. 

" Mayst thou not prompt with every coming day 
The generous aim and act, and gently win 
Our restless, wandering thoughts to turn away 
From every treacherous path that ends in sin?" 

Later on, with the solemn requiem feeling mingled the 
bright anticipations of Christian hope, and we have those 
sweet, sad verses called 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 185 

A LIFE-TIME. 

Ana well I know that a brightness 

From his life has passed away, 
And a smile from the green earth's beauty, 

And a glory from the day. 

But I behold above him, 

In the far blue depths of air. 
Dim battlements shining faintly, 

And a throng of faces there ; 

See over crj^stal barrier 

The airy figures bend 
Like those who are watching and waiting 

The coming of a friend. 

And one there is among them, 

With a star upon her brow, 
In her life a lovely woman, 

A sinless seraph now 

I know the sweet, calm features, 

The peerless smile I know; 
And I stretch my arms with transport 

From where I stand below. 

And the quick tears drown my eyelids ; 

But the airy figures fade, 
And the shining battlements darken. 

And blend with the evening shade. 

I am gazing into the twilight. 
Where the dim-seen meadows lie ; 

And the wind of night is swaying 
The trees with a heavy sigh. 

And in another poem, called " May Evening," one of 
his latest pieces, he thus alludes to her and his sense of 
loss — while the pine and Vv^illow, in the balmy evening air, 
redolent of fragrant flowers, seem now only to sigh over 
the buried dead, when he touchingly exclaims : — 



186 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT, 

*' Yet there is sadness in thy soft caress, 
Wind of the blooming year ! 
The gentle presence, that tvas ivont to bless 
Thy coming, — is not here." 



CHAPTEE XI. 

1867-1876: Last Visit to Europe — Homeric Translations — 
Speech at Williams College — Mexico — Orations — Eight- 
ieth Birth-day — Vase Presentation — Bryant's Keply. 

Visits Europe for the Last Time— Translates Homer— Morse Dinner— Halleck 
Oration— Poetical Speech at Williams College— Verplanck Address— The 
Iliad— The Odyssey— Morse Statue— Mexico— Popular History of the 
United States— Eeform Address— Orations Published— Copyright Memo- 
randum—Picturesque America— Eightieth Birth- day— Vase Presentation 
—Bryant's Modest Eeply. 

In 1867, Bryant visited Europe for the last time, but 
change of scene did not now, as before, revive and yield 
him the repose for which he longed, for he was alone. 
So he hastened home again to take refuge in work. In 
addition to his usual editorial routine, he continued his 
Homeric studies, tasking himself to translate at least 
forty lines a day, although he often exceeded, and some- 
times doubled that number. 

Between the years 1834 and 1867, inclusive, Bryant 
made six visits to the Old World. In a letter, addressed 
to General James Grant Wilson, he says: — "I went six 
times to Europe. In 1834, with my wife and family, 
returning in 1836. In 1845; but I did not visit the 
Shetland Islands till four years later, in 1849. My 
fourth visit was in 1852, when I went to the Holy Land. 
In 1857, I made a fifth voyage to Europe with my wife 
and younger daughter. In 1867, I went over the sixth 
time. In both these last voyages I visited Spain." 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 187 

In 18G8, ho delivered a speech at a dinner given to 
Morse, in which he spoke of the wonders of the telegraph 
in overcoming space and time. From that speech, we 
have already given an extract, when treating of his 
editorial career. 

On February 3rd, 1869, he delivered a sympathetic 
and eloquent oration on the life and writings of his friend 
Fitz-Greene Halleck, the poet. 

This year, his Letters from the East were published^ and 
he was also present, at Commencement time, at Williams 
College, listening attentively to the orations of the young 
men, and, when called upon, among other speakers, for 
remarks, after the usual dinner of the alumni, he said : — 

" It has occuiTed to me, since I, in the decline of life, came 
to visit once more this seat of learning, in which our youth 
are trained to succeed us on the stage of the world, that I am 
in the situation of one, who, standing on a spot desolate with 
Winter and dim with twilight, should be permitted, by a sort 
of miracle, to look upon a neighbouring region glorious with 
the bloom of Spring, and bright with the beams of morning. 
On the side where I stand, I see, perhaps, fields and leafless 
woods, pools sheeted with ice, a frozen soil, and the shadows 
of approaching night. On the side to which I look, I see 
emerald meadows, fields of springing wheat, orchards in bloom, 
transparent streams, and a genial sunshine. With me, it is too 
late for any further hopeful tillage, and if the plough were 
put into the ground, its coulter would be obstructed by the ice- 
bound sods. On the side to which I look, I see the tokens of 
judicious culture and careful tendency, recompensed by a free 
and promising growth. I rejoice at the kindly care thus be- 
stowed, and my hoj^e and prayer is, that under such auspices 
all the promises which meet my eyes may be amply fulfilled, 
and that, from these luxuiiant fields, a harvest may be gathered 
richer and more abundant than has ever yet been stored in the 
granaries of the land." 
13 



1B8 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

On the evening of May 17th, 1870, Bryant delivered 
an address, on the life and writings of his friend, Gulian 
C. Yerplanck, before the New York Historical Society, 
speaking of him with admiration and affectionate regard. 

" The literary life," says General James Grant Wilson, 
"which began more than sixty years ago, was crowned by 
his translations of Homer. He was more than threescore 
and ten, when he set himself to the formidable task of 
adding another to the many translations of the Iliad and 
Odyssey. The former occupied most of his leisure hours 
for three years, and the latter about two; being completed 
when Mr. Bryant was well advanced in his seventy-seventh 
year. The opinion has been pronounced by competent 
critics, that these will hold their own with the translations 
of Pope, Chapman, Newman, or the late Earl Derby." 

Under the heavy pressure of grief caused by the loss of 
his wife, he wisely wrought at this formidable undertaking, 
in order to distract and occupy his thoughts. 

In December, 1869, the translation of the Iliad was 
completed, and it was published in 1870. We give the 
following specimen, from the beginning of the eighth 
book : — 

" Now Morn in saffron robes had shed her light 
O'er all the earth, when Jove the Thunderer 
Summoned the gods to council on the heights 
Of many-peaked Olympus. He addressed 
The assembly, and all listened as he spake : — 
'Hear, all ye gods and all ye goddesses! 
While I declare the thought within my breast, 
Let none of either sex presume to break 
The law I give, but cheerfully obey, 
That my design may sooner be fulfilled. 
Whoever, stealing from the rest, shall seek 
To aid the Grecian cause, or that of Troy, 
Back to Olympus scourged and in disgrace 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 189 

Shall he be brought; or I will seize and hurl 

The offender down to rayless Tartarus, 

Deep, deep in the great gulf below the earth, 

With iron gates and threshold forged of brass, 

As far beneath the shades as earth from heaven. 

Then shall he learn how greatly I surpass 

All other gods in power. Try, if ye will. 

Ye gods, that all may know : suspend from heaven 

A golden chain ; let all the immortal host 

Cling to it from below : ye could not draw, 

Strive as ye might, the all-disposing Jove 

From heaven to earth. And yet, if I should choose 

To draw it upward to me, I should lift. 

With it and you, the earth itself and sea 

Together; and I then would bind the chain 

Around the summit of the Olympian mount. 

And they should hang aloft, so far my power 

Surpasses all the power of gods and men.'" 

The marked success of the Iliad encouraged him to go 
on with the Odyssey, which, without pause, he began and 
also completed; it was published in December, 1871. 
The veteran bard was in his seventy-seventh year when 
he completed the Herculean Homeric task. 

We give the following lines, in his translation, from 
the fifth book of the Odyssey. — 

" He spake; the herald Argicide obeyed, 
And hastily beneath his feet he bound 
The fair, ambrosial, golden sandals, worn 
To bear him over ocean like the wind, 
And o'er the boundless land. His wand he took. 
Wherewith he softly seals the eyes of men. 
And opens them at will from sleep. With this 
In hand, the mighty Argos-queller flew, 
And lighting on Pieria, from the sky 
Plunged downward from the deep, and skimmed its face 
Like hovering sea-mew, that on the broad gulfs 



190 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Of the unfruitful ocean seeks her prey, 
And often dips her pinions in the brine. 
So Hermes flew along the waste of waves. 

But when he reached that island, far away, 
Forth from the dark-blue ocean-swell he stepped 
Upon the sea-beach, walking till he came 
To the vast cave in which the bright-haired nymph 
Made her abode. He found the nymph within. 
A fire blazed brightly on the hearth, and far 
Was wafted o'er the isle the fragrant smoke 
Of cloven cedar, burning in the flame. 
And cypress- wood. Meanwhile, in her recess. 
She sweetly sang, as busily she threw 
The golden shuttle through the web she wove. 
And all about the grotto alders grew. 
And poplars, and sweet-smelling cypresses, 
In a green forest, high among whose boughs 
Birds of broad wings, wood-owls and falcons, built 
Their nests, and crows, with voices sounding far. 
All haunting for their food the ocean-side. 
Around were meadows of soft green, o'ergrown 
With violets and parsley. 'Twas a spot 
Where even an Immortal might, awhile. 
Linger, and gaze with wonder and delight." 

These translations have been well received, and, in 
some respects, are acknowledged by scholars to be more 
nervous and literal than any preceding metrical transla- 
tions. Mr. Br3''ant is a thorough master of blank verse, 
and this achievement is a fitting laurel crown for a long 
and successful literary career, in every respect as pure as 
it has been prosperous. 

In the summer of this year (1871), on June 10th, 
having been called upon, he delivered an oration at the 
unveiling of the Morse statue in Central Park, a merited 
honour paid to a living scientist. Eequiring relaxation 
after the completion of the Odyssey, Bryant went south 



LIFE SKETCH OP WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 191 

and spent the winter of 1871-72 in Mexico, sending 
home letters, containing the results of his observation, 
for publication in the Post: — "It Avill thus be seen," says 
his friend, General James Grant Wilson, " that the poet 
has been a great traveller, and seems as unwilling as that 
ancient worthy, Ulysses, whose wanderings he has of late 
put in such fitting English verse, to let his faculties rust in 
idleness." Of Bryant's letters, collected from the Evening 
Post, General Wilson also writes: — "These charming 
volumes, ' born from his travelling thigh,' as Ben Jonson 
quaintly expressed it — are written in a style of English 
prose distinguished for its purity and simplicity. The 
genial love of nature, and the lurking tendency to 
humour, which they everywhere betray, prevent their 
severe simplicity from running into hardness, and give 
them a freshness and occasional glow, in spite of their 
prevailing propriety and reserve." 

On his return from Mexico much of his time was 
given to the revision of the manuscript for the Popular 
History of the United States^ published by the Scribners, 
and which was the latest prose work he undertook to 
edit. The second volume was issued before his death, and 
the completion of the work was afterwards placed in the 
hands of its associate editor, Sidney Howard Gay. 

In the autumn of 1872, on September 23d, he gave 
a short but stirring address on " Eeform," at the Cooper 
Institute; in which, like a Hebrew prophet, he fiercely 
denounced the gigantic and rampant frauds of the "ring" 
robbers, and explained how they might be effectually 
checkmated. 

He also delivered eloquent orations, on the inauguration 
of the Shakspere and Scott monuments, in Central Park. 

In 1872, all these various charming Orations and Ad- 
dresses were collected and published in a volume. 



192 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Bryant, ever desirous of aiding progress, and with large 
views, was always in the van when such movements 
required to be made. As an instance in point, General 
James Grant Wilson tells us, that, recently, he came upon 
a document, "which, in these days of international copy- 
right agitation, is of some interest. It runs thus : — 

'■'■'■ The British and American Copyright League is an associa- 
tion having for its object the passage of an International 
Copyright Law in America and in England, and in favour of 
such other countries as are willing to reciprocate, which shall 
secure to authors the same control over their own productions 
as is accorded to inventors, v/ho, if they so elect, can patent 
their inventions in all the countries of Europe. This is the 
first organized attempt that has been made to bring about 
this very desirable result. As a preliminary step, it is pro- 
posed to get the approval of those immediately interested, and 
your signature to the inclosed circular is therefore respectfully 
requested.' 

" This is signed ' Wm. C. Bryant, Secretary of the 
British and American Copyright League.' The 'inclosed 
circular' is a brief declaration of approval of the efforts 
of the League to secure the passage of an international 
copyright law, and bears the signatures of Bryant, Long- 
fellow, Emerson, Whittier, Garrison, Beecher, Holmes, 
Mrs. Stowe, Miss Alcott, Prof. Dana, Howells, Aldrich, 
and other well-known authors. This excellent beginning 
was made in 1873, but, for some reason, was not pushed 
to any practical outcome. It was, however, one of the 
signs of the change now becoming manifest." 

In 1873, Bryant edited Picturesque America, a handsome 
quarto volume published by the Appletons. 

In 1874, Bryant's friends and admirers, backed by the 
citizens of New York and the entire press of the country, 
met to devise a plan for commemorating his eightieth 



LIFE SKETCH OP WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 193 

birth-day and doing him honour. When they met to 
deliberate, it was suggested that a silver vase of original 
design and choice workmanship, symbolizing in its sculp- 
ture the character of Bryant's life and writings, should be 
procured by a popular subscription, to be ultimately 
placed in the Metropohtan Museum of Art. This sug- 
gestion approved, an influential committee was appointed 
to carry out the proposition. Accordingly, on the 3d of 
November, a deputation waited upon the poet, at his 
city residence in Sixteenth Street, when the following 
congratulatory letter — signed by many distinguished 
names, of all ranks, opinions, and professions, throughout 
the United States — was presented to him, accompanied 
with a few introductory remarks by Jonathan Sturges. 
The whole tone of the letter was honourable, alike to the 
donors and to the recipient :— 

"William Cullen Bryant, Nov. 3, 1874. 

"Honoured and Dear Sir, — We, your friends and fellow- 
citizens, congratulate you upon completing your eightieth year 
in such vigour of body and mind. We give you our heartiest 
wishes for your continued health and happiness ; and we in- 
form you respectfully of the intention to embody in a com- 
memorative vase, of original design and choice workmanship, 
the lessons of your literary and civic career in its relations 
with our country, whose nature, history, liberty, law, and 
conscience you have so illustrated. We believe that such a 
work will be an expressive fact of our coming National Cen- 
tennial, and a permanent treasure of our Metropolitan Museum 
of Art. We only add, that we desire that this tribute of 
gratitude should come from your friends throughout the coun- 
try, without distinction of party or section; and that our 
American women shall be encouraged to unite in the act, 
since our mothers, wives, and daughters are ready to declare 
their obligation to you for the pure langiiage and sentiment 
which you have given to the homes and schools of the nation." 



194 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

The design of the vase was made by Mr. James H. 
Whitehouse, of the firm of Tiffany & Co. "When the 
Bryant testimonial was first mentioned to me," says that 
gentleman, " my thoughts at once flew to the country, — 
to the crossing of the boughs of trees, to the plants and 
flowers, and to a general contemplation of Nature; and 
these, together with a certain Homeric influence, produced 
in my mind the germ of the design, — the form of a Greek 
vase, with the most beautiful American flowers growing 
round and entwining themselves gracefully about it, each 
breathing its own particular story as it grew." 

Nearly two years elapsed before the vase was completed 
and ready for the presentation, to Bryant, which took 
place in Chickering Hall, New York, on June 20th, 1876, 
before a large, influential, and appreciative audience. 

The silver vase is of the finest repousse work, and cost 
five thousand dollars— or about a thousand pounds ster- 
ling. 

"The vase is completely covered with significant 
figures. On one side, there is a medallion with the poet's 
head, and on the reverse, another medallion with two 
female figures, — Poetry contemplating Nature. Some of 
the representations have an historic meaning. In one, 
the poet is learning the art of verse from his father, who 
points to Homer as his master. In another, the boy-poet 
is musing in a grove, as if dwelling upon the images of 
* Thanatopsis.' In a third, the most primitive form of 
the printing-press represents the labours of the journalist. 
In a fourth, he is the translator of i\iQ Iliad and the Odyssey. 
In another medallion is an open book, nameless, but evi- 
dently designed to turn our thoughts toward the Book of 
books, from which the poet drew the precepts of his life. 
The waterfowl and the fringed gentian are among the 
ornaments; while the primrose and ivy represent youth 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 195 

and age; the amaranth, immortality; the eglantine, the 
spirit of poetry; the water-lily, eloquence; the bobolink, 
humorous verse; the lyre and broken shackles, the poet's 
work in the abolition of slavery; the Indian corn and 
cotton, his interest in industrial enterprises." The famous 
line "Truth crushed to earth shall rise again" is given in 
the form of an ornamental border, inlaid with gold, en- 
circling the neck. 

The presentation of the vase now was only the sequel 
and fulfilment of the interview which the committee had 
with Bryant, on November 3rd, 1874, — his eightieth birth- 
day. 

After the rendering of some national airs on the organ, 
Dr. Osgood presented the vase to Mr. Bryant, opening 
his speech with the following words: — "We and our 
children have received many and precious gifts from you, 
Mr. Bryant; and now we bring a gift to you in return, 
not to cancel, but to express our obligation;" and con- 
cluding it as follows : — " We can all join in this deference, 
whether native or foreign born, Knickerbockers or New- 
Englanders, Eastern, Western, Northern, or Southern; 
for we all know you and respect you. You have helped 
turn out the knaves and put honest men into power 
You stood by the old flag in the great struggle when 
'God and Our Country' was the motto, and you are stand- 
ing by it now, when 'Honest Men and Honest Money' is 
the issue of the time. , . . You have not lost ground by 
living with us; and you have risen from a young man of 
thirty to a full-grown man — I will not say an old man— 
of over eighty, as hearty and active as ever. . . . You 
still live the life which this vase embodies. You still see 
and enjoy the charm of nature; the gentian, the violet, the 
primrose, and the apple-blossom delight you as ever; you 
hear the hymn of the forest and the song of the stars; 



196 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

die merry Eobert of Lincoln sings for you his genial glee, 
and the solemn water-fowl preaches Avith untiring wing. 
Yowc Muse, that began with ' Thanatopsis,' promises to 
make 'Athanasia' her swan-song as the lengthening sha- 
dows point toward morning. 

"Accept this gift, with all its sculptures and memorials, 
the study of many thoughtful hours, and the trophy of 
more than a thousand days' work, all throbbing wdth 
heart-beats, as at once our record and our blessing. This 
exquisite form brings beauty from the land of old Homer 
to join with truth and grace from our new America in 
celebrating your birth-day. It means more than we can 
say. But we can say, for our country and for ourselves, 
that it means, 'God bless you, Mr. Bryant!'" 

A copy of verses was also presented to the poet, writ- 
ten for the occasion by the Rev. Horatio N. Powers of 
the Episcopal Church, in which occur the following 
lines : — 

" Thanks for thy pure, majestic song. 
Thy golden years, o'ermeasured span, 
Thy vaHant will to smite the wrong. 
Thy vast, unconquered love of man. 

" Thanks for thy simple faith and truth ; 
Thanks for thy wisdom deep and calm, 
The freshness of thy generous youth, 
Thy life — a sweet, triumphant psalm." 

Of Bryant, and his appearance on entering the hall on 
that interesting occasion, Dr. Osgood afterwards said, at 
the Memorial Meeting of the Goethe Club ; — 

"His quick and gentle eye and delicate and vigorous senses, 
and his apt and agile hand and foot showed the sensibility 
and strength that marked his career, and enabled his pen to 
paint his page with beauty, and to point it with truth and 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 197 

courage. His intellect looked out of his refined and manly 
face, and promised wise insight rather than elaborate analysis. 
He was more of a practical sage than a speculative philosopher, 
and more fond of seeing and showing the form and movement 
of life, than of anatomizing its vitals. In his affections, he was 
kindly and constant, and, if somewhat reserved in society, and 
not always open like the rose when it has bloomed, he was 
like the water-lily that opened anew at the touch of sunshine. 
He had many friends, and kept and served them and made 
sacrifices for them. He never set himself above the lowliest 
of his associates, and he was as free from arrogance as ser- 
vility. In his way, indeed, he was a very proud man, the 
proudest that I ever knew. He never sought out the great 
after the standard of this world's gold and rank, and he never 
turned away from the poor and humble. He was never 
frightened by numbers, position, and wealth, while very sen- 
sitive toward favour. I never knew him to be agitated but 
once, and that was two years ago, in this hall, when, as he 
came to receive a national tribute, the whole of the great 
assembly, without a hint or a suggestion, rose up in reverence, 
and then the old poet trembled for a moment like a child." 

Bryant's modest reply, on receiving the vase, is very 
characteristic of the man, and well worthy of preserva- 
tion : — 

" I shall begin what I have to say with thanks, and wdth 
thanks I shall end it — thanks to my excellent friends who 
have concurred in the presentation of this beautiful vase, 
thanks to the artists by whom it is designed and executed, 
thanks to my friend the chairman of the Committee for the 
obliging expressions with which he has accompanied the 
presentation, and thanks to this fair audience for the encour- 
agement of their presence. After expressing my acknowledg- 
ments for the honour done me, it would be easiest for me 
to take refuge in silence; but this would hardly become 
me after the kind words addressed to me and the superb 
gift offered to my acceptance. I fear that I might be accused 



198 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

of imitating an example of which I rememher to have read 
some forty years since. A volunteer military company in 
a provincial town in England on a time presented their 
captain with a silver pitcher. The non-commissioned officer 
who presented it, approaching his commander, held it out to 
him, and said, 'Captain, here's the jug.' To this the captain 
replied, 'Ay, is that the jug?' And there the speech-making 
ended, and the company were ready for the festivities of the 
evening. I am afraid that a similar condensation of what 
I have to say might be as ridiculous. 

"M^-. Chairman of the Committee, and you, my good 
friends, who have done me the honour to be here, I would 
not have you understand that I have the great presumption 
to take the obliging things said of me as my due, or this 
superb gift before me as earned by any service which I 
have rendered in any quarter. I wish I deserved it all, but, 
knowing better in my heart, I put a large balance — a very 
large one — to the credit of your generosity. What merit 
would be yours if I had fairly earned all that you are 
bestowing upon me i You would be simply doing your 
duty; you would be paying a debt. I should have no 
thanks to give, and you no honour for your benefaction. 
But consider it in the other light: suppose that I receive 
these testimonials of your kindness without having earned 
them, and this proceeding becomes an act of munificence, 
noble, princely, imperial — a munificence deserving to be ex- 
tolled in the choicest phrases which language can supply, 
inasmuch as it is like the bounty which showers the genial 
rain and pours the sweet sunshine on the unjust as well as 
the just, and under the influence of benignant seasons ripens 
the harvests of the field for Tweed as well as for Dr. 
Muhlenberg. 

"And now a word concerning the superb vase which is 
before me, the work of artists who are the worthy suc- 
cessors of Benvenuto Cellini, and eminent in their depart- 
ment. It has been greatly admired by those who have seen 
it, and deserves their admiration. I remember to have read, I 
think, some half-century ago, a definition of the term genius — 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 199 

making it to consist in the faculty of accomplishing great 
results by small means — the power, in short, which an indi- 
vidual has of overcoming difficulties by a forecast and vigour 
not possessed by others, converting obstacles into instruments 
of success. This vase I may call a product of genius, both in 
the design and the execution; for who would suppose that 
any skill of the artist could connect with such a subject as 
he had before him images so happily conceived, so full of ex- 
pression, and so well combining expression with grace] My 
friends, we authors cultivate a short-lived reputation; one 
generation of us pushes another from the stage ; the very lan- 
guage in which we write becomes a jargon, and we cease to 
be read; but a work like this is always beautiful, always ad- 
mired. Age has no power over its charm. Hereafter some 
one may say, ' This beautiful vase was made in honour of a 
certain American poet, whose name it bears, but whose writ- 
ings are forgotten. It is remarkable that so much pains 
should have been taken to illustrate the life and w^ritings of 
one whose works are so completely unknown at the present 
day.' Thus, gentlemen artists, I shall be indebted to you for 
causing the memory of my name to outlast that of my writ- 
ings." 

The vase itself, by Mr. Bryant's permission, was ex- 
posed to the view of the public in the great Centennial 
Exhibition, where it attracted great attention; and it is 
now deposited in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 



200 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 



CHAPTER XII. 

1876: Library of Poetry and Song— Selection of Poems from 
1876, Illustrated Edition — Characteristics op Bryant's 
Poetry — His Christian Hymns — Exquisite Art — Reputa- 
tion Safe— His Reading of Nature. 

Library of Poetry and Song, Enlarged Edition— Centennial Ode— Illustrated 
Edition of Poems— Painstalfing Habits of Composition— Tlie Antiquity of 
Ereedom— H:Tnn of the Sea— Tlie Land of Dreams— The Burial of Love— 
The May Sun— The Planting of the Apple-tree— The Snow-shower — 
The Wind and Stream— Robert of Lincoln— Characteristics of Bryant's 
Poetry— Sella— The Little People of the Snow— The Death of Slavery— 
The Flood of Years— Hymns— Blessed are they that Mourn— North, 
with all thy Vales of Green!— Bryant's Art Exquisite— His Reputation 
Safe— His Reading of Nature. 

In 1876 it was determined to give The Library of 
Poetry and Song a thorough revision, and issue it in quarto 
form. This work had first appeared, in 1870, in octavo 
size, with an introduction by Bryant, who had also either 
passed or rejected every poem that the MS. work con- 
tained, besides supplying other matter; so that each 
poem w^as reviewed and judged of, by him, before it 
took its place in the work. To quote Bryant's own 
words: — "At the request of the publishers," he says, "I 
undertook to write an introduction to the present work, 
and in pursuance of this design I find that I have come 
into a somewhat closer personal relation with the book. 
In its progress it has passed entirely under my revision. 
... I have, as requested, exercised a free hand, both 
in excluding, and in adding matter, according to my judg- 
ment of what was best adapted to the purposes of the 
enterprise." 

Bryant greatly interested himself in the enlargement 
and reconstruction of the work, giving it the full benefit 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 201 

of his fine taste and ripe judgment. Both editions con- 
tained his admirable and concise introduction, in the 
form of an essay on " The Poets and Poetry of the Eng- 
lish Language." The work was not completed till after 
his death, when a "Memorial Number," containing a 
valuable biographical memoir of Bryant, prepared by 
General James Grant Wilson, was prefixed to a work, 
which has been characterized as " the cream of seven 
hundred volumes in one." Bryant himself was wont to 
call it the "Family Library;" and from its origination, in 
1870, to its final completion (in 1878) in its various 
editions and forms, it has carried his name into a hun- 
dred thousand American homes. 

Bryant, by request, wrote the following hymn, for 
the opening of the Centennial International Exposition at 
Philadelphia : — 

CENTENNIAL HYMN. 

Through storm and calm the years have led 

Our nation on from stage to stage, 
A century's space, until we tread 

The threshold of another age. 

We see where o'er our pathway swept 
A torrent stream of blood and fire ; 

And thank the gniardian power who kejjt 
Our sacred league of states entire. 

Oh ! chequered train of years, farewell, 
With all thy strifes and hopes and fears ; 

But with us let thy memories dwell. 
To warn and teach the coming years. 

And thou, the new-beginning age, 
Warned by the past, and not in vain, 

Write ojL a fairer, whiter page 
The record of thy happier reign. 



202 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

In 1876 appeared a beautiful illustrated edition of his 
poetical works, containing all deemed worthy of preserva- 
tion, that he had published down to that date. 

We shall here quote some of his more recent poems, 
and a few of earlier date, which have not been already- 
given. But, before doing so, we would again call the atten- 
tion of readers to the great care which Bryant bestowed 
on every word he wrote. With him the thought was ever 
the first consideration; and then, he endeavoured to 
clothe it in the best possible form. 

To illustrate his careful habits of composition, and the 
very great pains which Bryant bestowed on his verse, we 
quote the following passage from the recollections of an 
old acquaintance : — 

"Some years since, Prof essor CM. Dodd,of Williams College, 
showed me a manuscript copy of one of Mr. Bryant's poems, 
which he had received from the author. It revealed the pro- 
cess by which a poem was constructed — the different stages of 
its growth. The poem was ' The Tides,' and there were five 
copies, written on five separate pieces of paper. In each suc- 
cessive copy there were changes in every stanza except the first 
one. Thatj seems to have assumed a form satisfactory to the 
author before he committed it to paper. It appeared in each 
copy, in the same form in which it was printed. Every other 
stanza received many changes. Sometimes a form of expres- 
sion appeared in one copy, and was discarded in the next copy, 
and restored in the third; and many of the stanzas were 
written over more than five times — the last one, seventeen 
times, before it was allowed to stand as it was printed. 

" When Mr. Bryant gave Professor Dodd the manuscript, he 
informed him that there were several antecedent manuscripts 
relating to the poem, containing hints and suggestions, intelli- 
gible only to the author. Hence, he had not given them to him." 

Bryant opens his poem on "The Antiquity of Freedom," 
by speaking of old trees; and, through them, mark how 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 203 

finely he first approaches, and afterwards takes leave of 
his theme! 



THE ANTIQUITY OF FEEEDOM. 

Here are old trees, tall oaks, and gnarled pines, 
That stray with gray -green mosses ; here the ground 
Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up 
Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet 
To linger here, among the flitting birds 
And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds 
That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass, 
A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set 
With pale-blue berries. In these peaceful shades— 
Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old — 
My thoughts go up the long dim path of years, 
Back to the earliest days of liberty. 

O Freedom ! thou art not, as poets dream, 
A fair young girl, with light and delicate hmbs, 
And wavy tresses gushing from the cap 
With which the Eoman master crowned his slave 
When he took off the gyves. A bearded man. 
Armed to the teeth, art thou ; one mailed hand 
Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword ; thy brow, 
Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred 
With tokens of old wars ; thy massive limbs 
Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched 
His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee ; 
They could not quench the life thou hast from heaven ; 
Merciless Power has dug thy dungeon deep, 
And his swart armourers, by a thousand fires. 
Have forged thy chain; yet, while he deems thee bound, 
The links are shivered, and the prison- walls 
Fall outward ; terribly thou springest forth, 
As springs the flame above a burning pile. 
And shoutest to the nations, who return 
Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies. 
14 



204 LIFE SKETCH OP WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Thy birthright was not given by human hands : 
Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields, 
While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him, 
To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, 
And teach the reed to utter simple airs. 
Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, 
Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, 
His only foes ; and thou with him didst draw 
The earliest furrow on the mountain-side, 
Soft with the deluge. Tyranny himself. 
Thy enemy, although of reverend look. 
Hoary with many years, and far obeyed. 
Is later born than thou ; and as he meets 
The grave defiance of thine elder eye. 
The usurper trembles in his fastnesses. 

Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years, 
But he shall fade into a feebler age — 
Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares. 
And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap 
His withered hands, and from their ambush call 
His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send 
Quaint maskers, wearing fair and gaUant forms 
To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words 
To charm thy ear ; while his sly imps, by stealth. 
Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread, 
That grow to fetters ; or bind down thy arms 
With chains concealed in chaplets. Oh! not yet 
Mayst thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by 
Thy sword; nor yet, O Freedom! close thy lids 
In slumber ; for thine enemy never sleeps. 
And thou must watch and combat till the day 
Of the new earth and heaven. But wouldst thou rest 
Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men. 
These old and friendly solitudes invite 
Thy visit. They, while yet the forest-trees 
Were young upon the unviolated earth. 
And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new, 
Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 205 

Fresh, as the living breath of the ocean itself, is his 
beautiful "Hymn of the Sea." 

A HYMN OF THE SEA. 

The sea is mighty, but a mightier sways 
His restless billows. Thoii, whose hands have scooped 
His boundless gulfs and built his shore, thy breath, 
That moved in the beginning o'er his face, 
Moves o'er it evermore. The obedient waves 
To its strong motion roll, and rise and fall. 
Still from that realm of rain thy cloud goes up, 
As at the first, to water the great earth. 
And keep her valleys green. A hundred realms 
Watch its broad shadow warping on the wind, 
And in the dropping shower, with gladness hear 
Thy promise of the harvest. I look forth 
Over the boundless blue, where joyously 
The bright crests of innumerable waves 
Glance to the sun at once, as when the hands 
Of a great multitude are upward flung 
In acclamation. I behold the ships 
Gliding from cape to cape, from isle to isle, 
Or stemming toward far lands, or hastening home 
From the Old World. It is thy friendly breeze 
That bears them, with the riches of the land, 
And treasure of dear lives, till, in the port, 
The shouting seaman climbs and furls the sail. 

But who shall bide thy tempest, who shall face 
The blast that wakes the fury of the sea? 
O God ! thy justice makes the world turn pale, 
When on the arm^d fleet, that royally 
Bears down the surges, carrying war, to smite 
Some city, or invade some thoughtless realm, 
Descends the fierce tornado. The vast hulks 
Are whirled like chaff upon the waves; the sails 
Fly, rent like webs of gossamer ; the masts 
Are snapped asunder ; downward from the decks, 



206 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Downward are slung, into the fathomless gulf, 
Their cruel engines; and their hosts, arrayed 
In trappings of the battle-field, are whelmed 
By whirlpools, or dashed dead upon the rocks. 
Then stand the nations still with awe, and pause, 
A moment, from the bloody work of war. 

These restless surges eat away the shores 
Of earth's old continents ; the fertile plain 
AVelters in shallows, headlands crumble down, 
And the tide drifts the sea-sand in the streets 
Of the drowned city. Thou, meanwhile, afar 
In the green chambers of the middle sea. 
Where broadest spread the waters and the line 
Sinks deepest, while no eye beholds thy work. 
Creator ! thou dost teach the coral-worm 
To lay his mighty reefs. From age to age, 
He builds beneath the waters, till, at last. 
His bulwarks overtop the brine, and check 
The long wave rolling from the southern pole 
To break upon Japan. Thou bidd'st the fires, 
That smoulder under ocean, heave on high 
The new-made mountains, and uplift their peaks, 
A place of refuge for the storm-driven bird. 
The birds and wafting billows plant the rifts 
With herb and tree; sweet fountains gush; sweet airs 
Eipple the living lakes that, fringed with flowers, 
Are gathered in the hollows. Thou dost look 
On thy creation and pronounce it good. 
Its valleys, glorious in their summer green. 
Praise thee in silent beauty, and its woods, 
Swept by the murmuring winds of ocean, join 
The murmuring shores in a perpetual hymn. 

" The Land of Dreams " is a light and airy presenta- 
tion of that realm of shadow. There are ten verses in 
the poem; we give the first two and the fifth:- — 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 207 

"A mighty realm is the Land of Dreams, 

"With steeps that hang in the twilight sky, 
And weltering oceans and trailing streams, 
That gleam where the dusky valleys lie. 

" But over its shadowy border flow 

Sweet rays from the world of endless morn, 
And the nearer mountains catch the glow, 
And flowers in the nearer fields are born. 

" Far off from those hills that shine with day 
And fields that bloom in the heavenly gales. 
The Land of Dreams goes stretching away 
To dimmer mountains and darker vales." 

" The Burial of Love " is so perfect of its kind that we 
transcribe the whole. Of this poem, and the preceding 
one, Stoddard wrote, classing them under the head of 
poems of imagination and fantasy, which, he says, " began 
with the rural song, if I may call it such, which the 
young poet addressed to the lady of his love; they cul- 
minated in ' The Land of Dreams ' and ' The Burial of 
Love.' I know of nothing more poetical than these 
exquisite dreams within dreams, which haunt the memory 
with visions of loveliness. The genius of Bryant was as 
beautiful as it was magnificent." 

THE BUPJAL OF LOVE. 

Two dark-eyed maids, at shut of day, 
Sat where a river rolled away, 
With calm sad brows and raven hair, 
And one was pale and both were fair. 

Bring flowers, they sang, bring flowers unblown," 
Bring forest blooms of name unknown ; 
Bring budding sprays from wood and wild, 
To strew the bier of Love, the child. 



S08 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Close softly, fondly, while ye weep, 
His eyes, that death may seem like sleep, 
And fold his hands in sign of rest, 
His waxen hands, across his breast. 

And make his grave where violets hide, 
Where star-flowers strew the rivulet's side, 
And bluebirds in the misty spring 
Of cloudless skies and summer sing. 

Place near him, as ye lay him low. 
His idle shafts, his loosened bow, 
The silken fillet that around 
His waggish eyes in sport he wound. 

But we shall mourn him long, and miss 

His ready smile, his ready kiss, 

The patter of his little feet. 

Sweet frowns and stammered phrases sweet ; 

And graver looks, serene and high, 
A light of heaven in that young eye. 
All these shall haunt us till the heart 
Shall ache and ache — and tears will start. 

The bow, the band shall fall to dust, 
The shining arrows waste with rust, 
And all of love that earth can claim, 
Be but a memory and a name. 

Not thus his nobler part shall dwell 
A prisoner in this narrow cell ; 
But he whom now we hide from men. 
In the dark ground, shall live again. 

Shall break these clods, a form of light, 
With nobler mien and purer sight. 
And in the eternal glory stand. 
Highest and nearest God's right hand. 

In the beautiful dirge-like poem which follows, how 
touching is his sorrow for the dead : — 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 209 

THE MAY SUN SHEDS AN AMBER LIGHT. 

The May sun sheds an amber light 

On new-leavecl woods and lawns between ; 
But she who, with a smile more bright, 

Welcomed and watched the springing green, 
Is in her grave, 
Low in her grave. 
The fair white blossoms of the wood 

In groups beside the pathway stand ; 
But one, the gentle and the good, 

Who cropped them with a fairer hand, 
Is in her grave, 
Low in her grave. 
Upon the woodland's morning airs 

The small birds' mingled notes are flung ; 
But she, whose voice, more sweet than theirs 
Once bade me listen while they sung, 
Is in her grave, 
Low in her grave. 
That music of the early year 

Brings tears of anguish to my eyes ; 
My heart aches when the flowers appear; 
For then I think of her who lies 

Within her grave. 
Low in her grave. 

AYe quote tho poem which Halleck admired so much, 
that he wrote it out and committed it to memory. From 
beginning to end, including the quaint allusion to himself, 
it is lovely, and fragrant as the white and rosy blossoms : — 

THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE. 

Come, let us plant the apple-tree, 
Cleave the tough greensward with the sjpade ; 
Wide let its hollow bed be made ; 
There gently lay the roots, and there 



210 LIFE SKETCH OP WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Sift the dark mould with kindly care, 
And press it o'er them tenderly, 

As, round from the sleeping infant's feet 

We softly fold the cradle-sheet; 
So plant we the apple-tree. 

"What plant we in this apple-tree ? 
Buds, which the breath of summer days 
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays ; 
Boughs where the thrush, with crimson hroast, 
Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest 

We plant, upon the sunny lea, 
A shadow for the noontide hour, 
A shelter from the summer shower. 

When we plant the apple-tree. 

What plant we in this apple-tree 1 
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs 
To load the May-wind's restless wings. 
When, from the orchard-row he pours 
Its fragrance through our open doors; 

A world of blossoms for the bee. 
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, 
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom, 

We plant with the apple-tree. 

What plant we in this apple-tree? 
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, 
And redden in the August noon. 
And drop, when gentle airs come by, 
That fan the blue September sky, 

While children come, with cries of glee, 
And seek them where the fragrant grass 
Betrays their bed to those who pass, 

At the foot of the apple-tree. 

And when, above this apple-tree, 
The winter stars are quivering bright, 
And winds go howling through the night, 
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth, 
Shall peel its fruit by cottage-hearth, 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 211 

And guests in prouder homes shall see 
Heaped with the grape of Ciutra's vine 
And golden orange of the line, 

The fruit of the apple-tree. 

The fruitage of this apple-tree 
Winds and our flag of stripe and star 
Shall bear to coasts that lie afar, 
Where men shall wonder at the view 
Ajid ask in what fair groves they grew ; 

And sojourners beyond the sea 
Shall think of childhood's careless day, 
And long, long hours of summer play. 

In the shade of the apple-tree. 

Each year shall give this apple-tree 
A broader flush of roseate bloom, 
A deeper maze of verdurous gloom, 
And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower. 
The crisp-brown leaves in thicker shower; 

The years shall come and pass, but we 
Shall hear no longer, where we lie, 
The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh. 

In the boughs of the apple-tree. 

And time shall waste this apple-tree. 
Oh, when its aged branches throw 
Thin shadows on the ground below. 
Shall fraud and force and iron will 
Oppress the weak and helpless still? 

What shall the tasks of mercy be, 
Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears 
Of those who live when length of years 

Is wasting this little apple-tree? 

"Who planted this old apple-tree?'* 
The children of that distant day 
Thus to some aged man shall say ; 
And, gazing on its mossy stem. 
The gi^ay-haired man shall answer them : 



212 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

"A poet of the land was he, 
Born in the rude but good old times ; 
'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes. 

On planting the apple-tree." 

In " The Snow-shower," he personifies the snow-flakes, 
actually investing them with a reflection of human in- 
terest; and note, how admirably, in the same way, he suc- 
ceeds in awakening sympathy for the brook, in 

THE WIND AND STREAM. 

A brook came stealing from the ground ; 

You scarcely saw its silvery gleam 
Among the herbs that hung around 

The borders of that winding stream, 
The pretty stream, the placid stream. 
The softly-gliding, bashful stream. 

A breeze came wandering from the sky, 
Light as the whispers of a dream ; 

He put the o'erhanging grasses by, 
And softly stooped to kiss the stream, 

The pretty stream, the flattered stream. 

The shy, yet unreluctant stream. 

The water, as the wind passed o'er, 
Shot upward many a glancing beam, 

Dimpled and quivered more and more. 
And tripped along, a livelier stream. 

The flattered stream, the simpering stream. 

The fond, delighted, silly stream. 

Away the airy wanderer flew 

To where the fields with blossoms teem, 

To sparkling springs and rivers blue, 
And left alone that little stream. 

The flattered stream, the cheated stream, 

The sad, forsaken, lonely stream. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 213 

That careless wind came never back ; 

He wanders yet the fields, I deem, 
But, on its melancholy track, 

Complaining went that little stream, 
The cheated stream, the hopeless stream, 
The ever-murmuring, mourning stream. 

Eichard H. Dana, in a letter to a friend, written on 
August 9, 1866, says, after a touching allusion to Mrs. 
Bryant's death: — 

" I do not know what it is that should bring to mind that 
most exquisite of exquisite little things, 'The Wind and the 
Stream,' in his Thirty Poems. What a dear little child he 
makes of it, so happy in its child-like, flattered vanity — all so 
pretty; and then its little heart broken that it is so deserted 
— left all alone. What a heart for nature must the man have 
who could write that ! " 

Stedman describes the following well-known sprightly 
lines, addressed to the Rice Troojnal, familiarly called, 
throughout the greater part of America, the Bod-o-LinJc, as 
being "full of bird-music and fancy:" — 

EGBERT OF LINCOLN. 

Merrily swinging on brier and weed. 
Near to the nest of his little dame. 
Over the mountain-side or mead, 

Eobert of Lincoln is telling his name: 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Snug and safe is that nest of ours, 
Hidden among the summer flowers. 
Chee, chee, chee. 
Eobert of Lincoln is gaily drest. 

Wearing a bright black wedding-coat ; 
White are his shoulders and white his crest, 
Hear him call in his merry note: 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 



214 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT, 

Look, what a nice new coat is mine, 
Sure there was never a bird so fine. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Eobert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, 

Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, 
Passing at home a patient life, 

Broods in the grass while her husband sings : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Brood, kind creature ; you need not fear 
Thieves and robbers while I am here. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Modest and shy as a nun is she ; 

One weak chirp is her only note. 
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, 
Pouring boasts from his little throat; 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link. 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Never was I afraid of man ; 
Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can ! 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Six white eggs on a bed of hay, 

Flecked with purple, a pretty sight ! 
There as the mother sits all day, 

Eobert is singing with all his might : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Nice good wife, that never goes out, 
Keeping house while I frolic about. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Soon as the little ones chip the shell 

Six little mouths are open for food ; 
Eobert of Lincoln bestirs him well. 
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 215 

This new life is likely to be 
Plard for a gay young fellow like me. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Eobert of Lincoln at length is made 

Sober with work, and silent with care; 
Off is his holiday garment laid, 
Half forgotten that merry air : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Nobody knows but my mate and I 
Where our nest and our nestlings lie. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Summer wanes ; the children are gTOwn ; 

Fun and frolic no more he knows ; 
Eobert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone ; 
Off he flies, and we sing as he goes : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
When you can pipe that merry old strain, 
Eobert of Lincoln, come back again. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Bryant delights to make use of the wide-spreading land- 
scape, and the special features of the scenery, as a back- 
ground for his figures. He does so, for example, in the 
patriotic lyric "Seventy-six," and in his "Indian Story," 
where the mode of treatment gives an open-air feeling to 
his poetry, at once realistic and expansive; for, in his 
very truthful delineations of American scenery, Bryant 
was at once minute and comprehensive. 

Several of his poems, such as "The Song of the Sower," 
"The Path;" two fairy stories,— "Sella" and "The Little 
People of the Snow," and "The Day-Dream," written in 
his latter years — light, airy, and imaginative — are marked 
by his best characteristics, and show no diminution of 
poetical power. 



216 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

From "Sella," a long legend of the days of old, we 
quote what that maiden sees when transported by her 
magic slippers to the ocean depths : — 

" And then we wandered off amid the groves 
Of coral, loftier than the growths of earth: 
The mightiest cedar lifts no trunk like theirs, 
So huge, so high toward heaven, nor overhangs 
Alleys and bowers so dim. "We moved between 
Pinnacles of black rock, which, from beneath 
Molten by inner fires, — so said my guide, — 
Gushed long ago into the hissing brine. 
That quenched and hardened them; and now they stand 
Motionless in the currents of the sea 
That part and flow around them. As we went, 
We looked into the hollows of the abyss 
To which the never-resting waters sweep 
The skeletons of sharks, the long white spines 
Of narwhal and of dolphin, bones of men 
Shipwrecked, and mighty ribs of foundered barks. 
Down the blue pits we looked, and hastened on. 

" But beautiful the fountains of the sea 
Sprang upwards from its bed: the silvery jets 
Shot branching far into the azure brine; 
And where they mingled with it, the great deep 
Quivered and shook as shakes the glimmering air 
Above a furnace. So we wandered through 
The mighty world of waters, till at length 
I wearied of its wonders, and my heart 
Began to yearn for my dear mountain-home. 
I prayed my gentle guide to lead me back 
To the upper air. 'A glorious realm,' I said, 
' Is this thou openest to me; but I stray 
Bewildered in its vastness: these strange sights 
And this strange light oppress me. I must see 
The faces that I love, or I shall die.' " 

In "The Little People of the Snow," which is also 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 217 

fin old-world story, he thus describes what Eva, a child 
of the Caucasus, sees — when, enticed far away over the 
glistening snows by a fairy maiden, she looks in through 
the ice-windows of the frost-palace where the little people 
are holding their revels, but into which palace, she, a 
mortal, cannot enter: — 

" And in that hall a joyous multitude 
Of these by whom its glistening walls were reared 
Whirled in a merry dance to silvery sounds. 
That rang from cymbals of transparent ice, 
And ice-cups, quivering to the skilful touch 
Of little fingers. Kound and round they flew, 
As when in spring, about a chimney-top, 
A cloud of twittering swallows, just returned, 
Wheel round and round, and turn and wheel again, 
Unwinding their swift track. So rapidly 
Flowed the meandering stream of that fair dance 
Beneath that dome of light. Bright eyes that looked 
From under lily-brows, and gauzy scarfs 
Sparkling like snow-wreaths in the early sun, 
Shot by the window in their mazy whirl." 

Eva, chilled by exposure to the cold, sinks on the 
snow-drift, and 

" The hues of life 
Fade from the fair smooth brow and rounded cheek 
As fades the crimson from a morning cloud." 

The cottagers, mourning over the dead child, dig a grave 
for her beneath the snow, and, in perfect keeping with 
the fairy story, the little folks also come, and mourn too: — 

"A thousand slender voices round, 
Like echoes softly flung from rock and hill. 
Took up the strain, and all the hollow air 
Seemed mourning for the dead ; for on that day 
The Little People of the Snow had come 



218 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

From mountain-peak and cloud and icy hall 
To Eva's burial." 

"The little grave was closed; the funeral-train 
Departed ; winter wore away ; the Spring 
Steeped, with her quickening rains, the violet-tufts, 
By fond hands planted where the maiden slept. 
But, after Eva's burial, never more 
The Little People of the Snow were seen 
By human eye, nor ever human ear 
Heard from their lips articulate speech again ; 
For a decree went forth to cut them off, 
Forever, from communion with mankind. 
The winter-clouds, along the mountain-side, 
EoUed downward toward the vale, but no fair form 
Leaned from their folds, and, in the icy glens, 
And aged woods, under snow-loaded pines. 
Where once they made their haunts, was emptiness. 

"But ever, when the wintry days drew near. 
Around that little grave, in the long night, 
Frost-wreaths were laid and tufts of silvery rime 
In shape like blades and blossoms of the field, 
As one would scatter flowers upon a bier." 

In the columns of the Post, in his own dignified and 
seemingly calm, yet only restrained and pent-up way, 
Bryant had long fought against slavery; for he knew that 
the accursed system was, already, one way or another, cer- 
tainly doomed. When, at length, its death-blow came, and 
the right prevailed, he sang the following mighty song of 
deliverance and triumph, from the very depths of his 
loving, large, and intensely human heart : — 

THE DEATH OF SLAYEEY. 

O thou great Wrong, that, through the slow-paced years, 
Didst hold thy millions fettered, and didst wield 
The scourge that drove the labourer to the field, 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 219 

And turn a stony gaze on liuman tears, 
Thy cruel reign is o'er; 
The bondmen crouch no more 
In terror at the menace of thine eye ; 

For He who marks the bounds of guilty power, 
Long-suffering, hath heard the captive's cry, 

And touched his shackles at the appointed hour, 
And lo ! they fall, and he whose limbs they galled 
Stands in his native manhood, disenthralled. 

A shout of joy from the redeemed is sent; 

Ten thousand hamlets swell the hymn of thanks ; 

Our rivers roll exulting, and their banks 
Send up hosannas to the firmament ! 

Fields where the bondman's toil 
No more shall trench the soil, 
Seem now to bask in a serener day ; 

The meadow-birds sing sweeter, and the airs 
Of heaven with more caressing softness play, 

Welcoming man to liberty like theirs. 
A glory clothes the land from sea to sea. 
For the great land and all its coasts are free. 

Within that land wert thou enthroned of late, 
And they by whom the nation's law^s were mado, 
And they who filled its judgment-seats obeyed 

Thy mandate, rigid as the will of Fate. 

Fierce men at thy right hand, 
With gesture of command, 

Gave forth the word that none might dare gainsay; 
And grave and reverend ones, who loved thee not, 

Shrank from thy presence, and in blank dismay 
Choked down, unuttered, the rebellious thought; 

While meaner cowards, mingling with the train, 

Proved, from the book of God, thy right to reign. 

Great as thou wert, and feared from shore to shore, 
The wrath of Heaven o'ertook thee in thy pride ; 
Thou sitt'st a ghastly shadow; by thy side 
15 



220 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Thy ouce strong arms hang nerveless evermore. 
And they who quailed but now 
Before thy lowering brow, 
Devote thy memory to scorn and shame, 

And scoff at the pale, powerless thing thou art. 
And they who ruled in thine imperial name, 

Subdued, and standing sullenly apart. 
Scowl at the hands that overthrew thy reign, 
And shattered at a blow the prisoner's chain. 

Well was thy doom deserved ; thou didst not spare 
Life's tenderest ties, but cruelly didst part 
Husband and wife, and from the mother's heart 

Didst wrest her children, deaf to shriek and prayer ; 
Thy inner lair became 
The haunt of guilty shame ; 

Thy lash dropped blood; the murderer, at thy side. 
Showed his red hands, nor feared the vengeance due. 

Thou didst sow earth with crimes, and, far and wide, 
A harvest of uncounted miseries grew, 

Until the measure of thy sins at last 

Was full, and then the avenging bolt was cast ! 

Go now, accursed of God, and take thy place 
With hateful memories of the elder time, 
With many a wasting plague, and nameless crime, 

And bloody war that thinned the human race ; 
With the Black Death, whose way 
Through wailing cities lay, 

Worship of Moloch, tyrannies that built 
The Pyramids, and cruel creeds that taught 

To avenge a fancied guilt by deeper guilt — 
Death at the stake to those that held them not. 

Lo ! the foul phantoms, silent in the gloom 

Of the flown ages, part to yield thee room. 

I see the better years that hasten by 
Carry thee back into that shadowy past. 
Where, in the dusty spaces, void and vast, 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 221 

Tlie graves of those whom thou hast murdered lie. 
The slave-pen, through whose door 
Thy victims pass no more, 
Is there, and there shall the grim block remain 

At which the slave was sold; while at thy feet 
Scourges and engines of restraint and pain 

Moulder and rust by thine eternal seat. 
There, mid the symbols that proclaim thy crimes, 
Dwell thou, a warning to the coming times. 

May, 1866. 

His last poem, of any great length, was " The Flood 
of Years." Written in the poet's eighty-second year, 
and full of " the still sad music of humanity," pure, calm, 
meditative, and trustful in tone, it reminds us of his 
" Thanatopsis," of 1812, "The Ages," of 1821, and 
"Among the Trees," of 1874. The essential ideas, in 
all these poems, point in the same direction, while, in 
setting and finish, if there be any difference, the last is 
even finer than his earlier work. The poem originally 
appeared in iScribner's Magazine; then it was published 
by itself as an illustrated gift-book; and, afterwards, it 
was included in Appleton's edition of Bryant's poems : — 

THE FLOOD OF YEAES. 

"A Mighty Hand, from an exhaustless urn 
Pours forth the never-ending Flood of Years 
Among the nations. How the rushing waves 
Bear all before them ! On their foremost edge, 
And there alone, is Life; the Present there 
Tosses and foams and fills the air with roar 
Of mingled noises. There are they who toil. 
And they who strive, and they who feast, and they 
Who hurry to and fro. The sturdy hind — 
Woodman and delver with the spade — are there, 
And busy artisan beside his bench. 
And pallid student with his written roU. 



222 LIFE SKETCH OP WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

A moment on the mounting billow seen — 

The flood sweeps over them and they are gone. 

There groups of revellers, whose brows are twined 

With roses, ride the topmast swell awhile, 

And as they raise their flowing cups to touch 

The clinking brim to brim, are whirled beneath 

The waves and disappear. I hear the jar 

Of beaten drums, and thunders that break forth 

From cannon, where the advancing billow sends 

Up to the sight long files of armed men, 

That hurry to the charge through flame and smoke. 

The torrent bears them under, whelmed and hid, 

Slayer and slain, in heaps of bjoody foa,m. 

Down go the steed and rider; the plumed chief 

Sinks with his followers ; the head that wears 

The imperial diadem goes down beside 

The felon's with cropped ear and branded cheek. 

A funeral train — the torrent sweeps away 

Bearers and bier and mourners 

Lo, next, a kneeling crowd and one who spreads 

The hands in prayer ; the engulfing wave o'ertakes 

And swallows them and him. A sculptor wields 

The chisel, and the stricken marble grows 

To beauty ; at his easel, eager-eyed, 

A painter stands, and sunshine, at his touch, 

Gathers upon the canvas, and life glows ; 

A poet, as he paces to and fro, 

Murmurs his sounding line. Awhile they ride 

The advancing billow, till its tossing crest 

Strikes them and flings them'under while their tasks 

Are yet unfinished. See a mother smile 

On her young babe that smiles to her again — 

The torrent wrests it from her arms ; she shrieks, 

And weeps, and midst her tears is carried down. 

A beam like that of moonlight turns the spray 

To glistening pearls ; two lovers, hand in hand, 

Kise on the billowy swell and fondly look 

Into each othei's eyes. The rushing flood 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 223 

Flings them apart ; the youth goes down ; the maid, 
With hands outstretched in vain and streaming eyes, 
Waits for the next high wave to follow him. 
An aged man succeeds; his bending form 
Sinks slowly ; mingling with the sullen stream 
Gleam the white locks and then are seen no more. 

Lo, wider grows the stream ; a sea-like flood 
Saps earth's walled cities ; massive palaces 
Crumble before it; fortresses and towers 
Dissolve in the swift waters ; populous realms, 
Swept by the torrent, see their ancient tribes 
Engulfed and lost, their very languages 
Stifled and never to be uttered more 

Sadly I turn, and look before, where yet 
The Flood must pass, and I behold a mist 
Where swarm dissolving forms, the brood of Hope, 
Divinely fair, that rest on banks of flowers 
Or wander among rainbows, fading soon 
And reappearing, haply giving place 
To shapes of grisly aspect, such as Fear 
Moulds from the idle air ; where serpents lift 
The head to strike, and skeletons stretch forth 
The bony arm in menace. Further on 
A belt of darkness seems to bar the way, 
Long, low and distant, where the Life that Is 
Touches the Life to Come. The Flood of Years 
Rolls toward it, nearer and nearer. It must pass 
That dismal barrier. What is there beyond 1 
Hear what the wise and good have said. Beyond 
That belt of darkness still the years roll on 
More gently, but with not less mighty sweep. 
They gather up again and softly bear 
All the sweet lives that late were overwhelmed 
And lost to sight — all that in them was good, 
Noble, and truly great and worthy of love — 
The lives of infants and ingenuous youths, 
Sages and saintly women who have made 
Their households happy — all are raised and borne 



224 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

By that great current on its onward sweep, 
Wandering and rippling with caressing waves 
Around green islands, fragrant with the breath 
Of flowers that never wither. So they pass. 
From stage to stage, along the shining course 
Of that fair river broadening like a sea. 
As its smooth eddies curl along their way. 
They bring old friends together; hands are clasped 
In joy unspeakable; the mother's arms 
Again are folded round the child she loved 
And lost. Old sorrows are forgotten now, 
Or but remembered to make sweet the hour 
That overpays them ; wounded hearts that bled 
Or broke are healed for ever. In the room 
Of this grief -shadowed Present there shall be 
A Present in whose reign no grief shall gnaw 
The heart, and never shall a tender tie 
Be broken in whose reign the eternal Change 
That waits on growth and action shall proceed 
With everlasting Concord hand in hand. 

" A gentleman who had been recently bereaved was so 
struck by the unquestioning faith in immortality expressed 
in the concluding lines of this poem that he wrote to the 
poet, asldng him if they represented his own belief. Mr. 
Bryant answered him in the following note, dated Cum- 
mington, August 10th, 1876: — 

'^' Certainly, I believe all that is said in the lines you have 
quoted. If I had not I could not have written them. I 
believe in the everlasting life of the soul ; and it seems to me 
that immortality would be but an imperfect gift without the 
recognition in the life to come of those who are dear to us 
here.'" 

"Sixty years elapsed between his ' Thanatopsis ' and 
his 'Flood of Years,' and in the last he is scarcely less 
the perfect poet than in the first. Indeed, the river of 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 225 

song still flows grandly and majestically, gathering in 
grandeur and force, as it approaches the eternal sea." 

It is not generally known that Bryant has written a 
number of distinctly Christian hymns. A few are pub- 
lished along with his poems; but a small volume, con- 
taining twenty-nine others, and to which we have already 
alluded, was printed some years ago for private circulation. 
One, called " Blessed are they that Mourn," is sung by 
many who may be unacquainted wath the authorship. 
It begins thus, — • 

" Oh, deem not they are blest alone, 
Whose days a peaceful tenor keep ; 
The Power who pities man, hath shown 
A blessing for the eyes that weep. 

" The light of smiles shall fill again 
The lids that overflow with tears ; 
And weary hours of woe and pain 
Are promises of happier years. 

^' There is a day of sunny rest 

For every dark and troubled night ; 
And grief may hide an evening guest, 
But joy shall come with early light." 

Lately, at the closing lecture of a course by Dr. Eay 
Palmer, at Union Theological Seminary, the venerable 
Bryant, on being introduced to the audience, after allud- 
ing to the grand contributions which the lecturer had 
made to the hymnology of the world, and especially to 
the hymn, "My faith looks up to Thee," said: "The 
philosophy of hymns is this: our thoughts become im- 
pressive as they are expressed in well-chosen phrases, and 
uttered in rhythm and rhyme. The power to affect other 
minds is augmented by the sjTnpathetic tones of the 



226 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

human voice in reading or reciting; and when musical 
cadence and melody are added, and the language of music 
is associated with words, we have, as a product, the well- 
known soothing and inspiring effect of singing hymns." 
The poet admiringly repeated Cowper's beautiful hymn, 
" God moves in a mysterious way," then a number of 
others which were also his favourites, and concluded 
with Henry Kirke White's "Star of Bethlehem." 

We present our readers with one of Bryant's hymns, 
which ought to find a place in our collections. The 
theme is "The Supremacy of Christ." 

" O North, with all thy vales of green ; 

O South, with all thy palms ! 
From peoj^led towns and fields between, 

Uplift the voice of psalms. 
Eaise, ancient East ! the anthem high, 
And let the youthful West reply. 

" Lo ! in the clouds of heaven appears 

God's well-beloved Son : 
He brings a train of brighter years ; 

His kingdom is begun : 
He comes a guilty world to bless 
With mercy, truth, and righteousness. 

"O Father! haste the promised hour. 

When at His feet shall lie 
All rule, authority, and power, 

Beneath the ample sky : 
When He shall reign from pole to pole, 
The Lord of every human soul : 

" When all shall heed the words He said, 

Amid their daily cares, 
And by the loving life He led. 

Shall strive to pattern theirs ; 
And He who conquered Death shall win 
The mightier conquest over Sin." 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 22*7 

Hero arc two stanzas of a hymn founded on the saying 
of Mary, the mother of Jesus, at the marriage in Cana of 
Galilee : — 

" Whatever He bids, observe and do; 
Such be the law that we obey, 
And greater wonders men shall view 
Than that of Cana's bridal day. 

" The flinty heart with love shall beat, 

The chains shall fall from passion's slave, 
The proud shall sit at Jesus' feet, 

And learn the truths that bless and save.'* 

From the many selections already given, the reader will, 
now, in some degree, be able to form for himself an esti- 
mate of Bryant as a poet — the height of which estimate 
will pretty accurately gauge his own literary culture, 
critical acumen, and refined maturity of judgment. 

Bryant himself, in these pages, has already told us his 
idea of what poetry ought to be, both in his admirable 
prose introduction to the Library of Poetnj and Song, and 
in his poem entitled "The Poet;" and how well he suc- 
ceeded in realizing his ideal may be gathered from the 
high admiration with which he is regarded by those who 
are best able to judge. 

Personally, the venerable poet has not inaptly been said 
to present the very semblance of the legendary Bard cf 
Gray:— 

" The poet stood 
(Loose his beard and hoary hair 
Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air), 
And with a master's hand and prophet's fire, 
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre!" 

Bryant, never vague in his descriptions, is always 
strictly and marvellously exact. Everything he de- 



228 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

scribes he has seen or felt for himself. When he com- 
munes with Nature in America, it is distinctively American 
Nature. 

His reputation as a poet is safe from the mere fluctu- 
ating fashions of critical opinion; for it rests on perduring 
truth, and is of the things "that cannot be shaken;" 
although, for the full appreciation of his verse, a certain 
refinement and culture, with moral purity and elevation, 
are requisite. 

With keen, observant eye, he has portrayed Nature 
accurately and minutely, investing it with sympathetic 
spirit-meanings, projected from his own soul, thus form- 
ing a true chord in the harmonic ratios of the universe. 



CHAPTER XIH. 

1876-1878: Youth in Old Age— Careful Habits— Wide Sym- 
pathies — Independent Spirit — The Fine Arts — Letter to 
Williams College — Firm Faith— Washington Ode— Science 
AND Eeligion — Edits Shakspere. 

Bryant Hale and Fresh at Eighty— Self-Restraint— Diet, Sleep, and Exercise 
—His whole Life a Training — Wide Sympathies — Shuns Notoriety- 
Editorial Desk— Independent Spirit — Talked of for President — Enthusi- 
asm and Shyness— His Interest in the Fine Arts— Williams College and 
Berkshire proud of Him— Beautiful Letter to the Alumni of Williams- 
Bryant a Religious Man — His Firm Faith— Story Dinner— Washington 
Ode— Decoration Day — Letter on Science and Religion — With Duychinck 
Edits Shakspere— Writes Introduction to Alden's Thoughts on Religion, 
and Studies of Bryant— Sure Ground of Hope. 

jBryant, v/hen over fourscore, was hale and fresh, and 
possessed "a wonderful balance of faculties in a marvel- 
lously harmonious frame." 

Of the Nestor of American poets it was said in 1876 : — 

"We suppose, he might be regarded as an old man, but 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 229 

there is recally nothing old about him. The frosts and snows 
of winter have not touched and chilled him, but, instead, the 
sunshine of two-and-eighty summers has bathed his head, and 
brightened his heart, and rippled through his voice of song. 
You would hardly suppose he had reached threescore and ten, 
his figure is so erect and his step is so elastic. He is fond of 
exercise, and walks down regularly every morning to his Even- 
ing Post, as he himself facetiously puts it, with a merry twin- 
kle in his eye. He is a great worker, and the amount of 
literary and journalistic labour he still performs would appal 
many of our more youthful scribblers." 

He could outwalk middle-aged men. "His spirit," says 
Bellows, " wore a light and lithe vestui-e of clay, that never 
burdened him. His senses were perfect at fourscore. His 
eyes needed no glasses : his hearing was exquisitely fine. His 
alertness was the wonder of his contemporaries. . . . Eegular 
in all his habits, he retained his youth almost to the last ; . . . 
and the last lustre of his long and busy life showed not only 
no senility or decline in artistic skill, but no decrease in intel- 
lectual or physical endurance." 

He preserved his vigour of body and mind, by temper- 
ate self-restraint, good sense, and a strict observance of 
the laws of health — both in regard to proper sanitary 
arrangements, and due attention to diet, sleep, and 
exercise. 

In a letter to Joseph H. Eichards, dated March 30th, 
1871, he himself gave the following interesting particulars 
of his uncommonly simple and sensible mode of life : — 

"My dear Sir, — I promised some time since to give you 
some account of my habits of life, so far at least as regards 
diet, exercise, and occupation. I am not sure that it will be 
of any use to you, although the system which I have for many 
years observed seems to answer my purpose very well. I have 
reached a pretty advanced period of life without the usual 
infirmities of old age, and, with my strength, activity, and 



230 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

bodily faculties generally in pretty good preservation. How 
far this may be the effect of my way of life, adopted long ago, 
and steadily adhered to, is perhaps uncertain. 

" I rise early — at this time of the year, about half-past iive ; 
in summer, half an hour, or even an hour, earlier. Imme- 
diately, with very little encumbrance of clothing, I begin a 
series of exercises, for the most part designed to expand the 
chest, and, at the same time, call into action all the muscles 
and articulations of the body. These are performed with 
dumb-bells — the very lightest — covered with flannel, with a 
pole, a horizontal bar, and a light chair swung round my 
head. After a full hour, and sometimes more, passed in this 
manner, I bathe from head to foot. When at my place in the 
country I sometimes shorten my exercises in the chamber, 
and, going out, occupy myself for half an hour or more in 
some work which requires brisk exercise. After my bath, 
if breakfast be not ready, I sit down to my studies until I am 
called. 

" My breakfast is a simple one — hominy and milk, or, in 
place of hominy, brown bread or oatmeal, or wheaten grits, 
and, in the season, baked sweet apples. Buckw^heat cakes I 
do not decline, nor any other article of vegetable food ; but 
animal food I never take at breakfast. Tea and coffee I never 
touch at any time. Sometimes I take a cup of chocolate, 
which has no narcotic effect, and agrees with me very well. 
At breakfast I often eat fruit, either in its natural state or 
freshly stewed. 

. "After breakfast I occupy myself for a while with my 
studies ; and then, when in town, I walk down to the office 
of the Evening Post, nearly three miles distant, and, after 
about three hours, return, always walking, whatever be the 
weather or the state of the streets. In the country, I am 
engaged in my literary tasks till a feeling of weariness drives 
me out into the open air ; and I go upon my farm, or into the 
garden and prune the fruit-trees, or perform some other work 
about them which they need, and then go back to my books. 
I do not often drive out, preferring to walk. 

" In the country, I dine early; and it is only at that meal 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 231 

that I take either meat or fish, and of these but a moderate 
quantity, making my dinner mostly of vegetables. At the 
meal which is called tea I only take a little bread r.nd butter, 
with fruit if it be on the table. In town, where I dine later, 
I make but two meals a day. Fruit makes a considerable 
part of my diet, and I eat it at almost any hour of the day 
without inconvenience. My drink is water ; yet I sometimes, 
though rarely, take a glass of wine. I am a natural temper- 
ance man, finding myself rather confused than exhilarated by 
wine. I never meddle with tobacco, except to quarrel with 
its use. 

"That I may rise early, I, of course go to bed early — in 
town, as early as ten ; in the country, somewhat earlier. 

" For many years, I have avoided in the evening every kind 
of literary occupation 'which tasks the faculties, such as com- 
position — even to the writing of letters — for the reason that it 
excites the nervous system, and prevents sound sleep. My 
brother told me, not long since, that he had seen in a Chicago 
newspaper, and several other Western journals, a paragraph 
in which it was said that I am in the habit of taking quinine 
as a stimulant; that I have depended upon the excitement it 
produces in writing my verses ; and that, in consequence of 
using it in that way, I had become as deaf as a post. As to 
my deafness, you know that to be false ; and the rest of the 
story is equally so. I abominate all drugs and narcotics, and 
have always carefully avoided everything which spurs nature 
to exertions which it would not otherwise make. Even with 
my food I do not take the usual condiments, such as pepper 
and the like. — I am, sir, truly yours, W. C. Bryant." 

Bryant thus was one of the most active old men ever 
known; and, living leisurely, he found time for every 
duty. His life was, in fact, one long course of training; 
and those who were well acquainted with him say — that, 
but for the accident which caused his death, he would 
probably have become a veritable centenarian. 

John Bigelow, in his admirable address before the 
Century Club, said- — 



232 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

" I am warranted in saying that, until the distressing acci- 
dent which terminated his days, he was never disabled by 
sickness within the memory of any person now living. 

" ' In years he seemed, but not impaired by years.' 

" Meeting him some years ago, and after a somewhat pro- 
longed separation, I asked him particularly about his health. 
He said it was so perfect he hardly dared to speak of it. He 
was not conscious from one week to another, he said, of a 
physical sensation that he would have different ; and was 
forgetting that he was liable to disease and decay. 
Not many weeks before his death, and when recovering 
from a slight indisposition which he had been describing 
to me (he was then approaching his eighty-fourth year), I 
said, ' I presume you have reduced your allowance of morning 
gymnastics.' 'Not the width of your thumb nail,' was his 
prompt reply. 'What !' said I, ' do you manage to still put in 
your hour and a half every morning?' 'Yes,' he replied, 'and 
sometimes more ; frequently more.' This may seem a trifling 
incident to enumerate among the memorabilia of a notable 
man. I regard it as a signal triumph of character." 

His family physician and friend, Dr. John F. Gray, 
writes: — "Mr. Bryant owed his long life to an exceed- 
ingly tenacious and tough constitution and very prudent 
living. I always found him an early riser. Although he 
was slight of body and limb, he seemed to me unconscious 
of fatigue, and he would walk many a stronger man off 
his legs. He did not walk rapidly, but seemed as wiry 
as an Indian." 

Bryant's simplicity, honesty, genuine kindliness, and 
freshness of heart, were notable traits. Ever conscious 
of a strict sense of right, duty, and responsibility, devolv- 
ing upon himself, he was tolerant and kindly to others, 
and his instinctive sympathy and interest in alt forms of 
human joy and suffering were broad and deep. Always 
of a modest, retiring disposition, he never quite over- 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 233 

came his slirinking timidity from notoriety of any kind — • 
indeed, it amounted to bashfulness; and, latterly, on public 
occasions, when, as the fittest man, he was frequently called 
to the front, the seemingly calm, unperturbed air with 
which he so well and nobly fulfilled the duties demanded 
of him, instead of arising from vertebrate strength in that 
direction, was only an outwardly assumed hardness, like the 
shell of the lobster, in order to crust over his innate, over- 
sensitive, shrinking, personal modesty and unconquerable 
shyness. An old acquaintance has recorded of him : — 

"His conversation was always simple, natural, and interest- 
ing ; for he never spoke unless he had something to say. He 
was not always disposed to talk. He seemed to think with 
Buckminster, that no friends are really intimate till they can, 
at times, enjoy each other's society in silence. He never in- 
troduced a topic unsuited to the mental condition of those 
present. He never, by word or act, gave any indication that 
he was conscious of being a person of distinction. Increased 
intimacy with him only gave a deeper impression of his 
genuine modesty. But his modesty was not diffidence, for he 
had a just estimate of his powers." 

In political strife, for what he thought right, he was 
ever foremost in the fight; but the impersonality of the 
editorial desk humoured his shy feeling, and afforded 
him all the barricade he required, so that, ensconsed 
behind it, he fought on, and was bold as a lion. 

In advocating measures, he never had any personal 
aims to serve; and so he maintained his spirit of inde- 
pendence to the last. He systematically declined prizes 
of office when actually placed in his offer, and set aside 
others to which, had he been so minded, he could readily 
have attained by simply giving his silent assent. 

A few years back (in 1872), when Grant and Greeley 
were candidates for the presidency, Bryant's name was 



234 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

spontaneously and favourably mentioned by the press as 
a fitting third candidate. The proposition was at once 
everywhere so well received, that the poet, to whom it 
was distasteful as well as impracticable, compelled to 
take notice of the matter, addressed the following charac- 
teristic card to the public: — 

" Certain journals of this city have lately spoken of me as 
one ambitious of being nominated as a candidate for the presi- 
dency of the United States. The idea is absurd enough, not 
only on account of my advanced age, but of my unfitness in 
various respects for the labour of so eminent a post. I do not, 
however, object to the discussion of my deficiencies on any 
other ground than that it is altogether superfluous, since it is 
impossible that I should receive any formal nomination, and 
equally impossible, if it were offered, that I should commit 
the folly of accepting it. William C. Bryant. 

" New York, July 8, 1872." 

Bryant had stood by Lincoln during his whole career, 
and he also supported Grant. 

He ever spoke in a kindly tone of his contemporaries, 
more especially of his brother poets. The following anec- 
dote, told by an editorial associate, finely brings out 
Bryant's shy modesty — a trait to which we have fre- 
quently alluded. His remark about the wood-work of 
the hoist, abruptly changing the subject, is charmingly 
natural, and so like him: — 

" His quotations in conversation were from a great variety 
of sources, but the most extensive one I ever heard him make 
was from Cowley, of whose poetry Mr. Bryant made a special 
study during the latter part of his life. I do not remember 
now what the occasion was or from what poem he quoted, but 
I shall never forget the effect it produced. He was standing 
by a form around which the printers were gathered, hastily 
getting it ready for the press. Some casual word was spoken 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 235 

which suggested the lines, antl Mr. Bryant, locking his hands 
before him, repeated the verse with wonderful force and ten- 
derness, causing the printers, hurried as they were, to pause 
and listen. As he finished he turned to the wood-work around 
the elevator, and, tapping it, said, ' There is very little wood 
there to make trouble in case of fire.' There was a look of 
almost boyish abashment in his face as he recovered from the 
fine enthusiasm." 

His mind, well stored with lore of all kinds, and his 
memory excellent, he could repeat long passages from 
the poets whom he admired, whether English or foreign. 
The following incident is related of him and Mr. John 
C. Zachos, the curator of the Cooper Institute : — ■ 

"Not long before his death, Bryant was present at a social 
gathering of literary men at the house of Peter Cooper, when 
the conversation fell upon the capacity of various languages to 
express the sense by the sound. Mr. Zachos advocated the 
sonorous qualities of the modern Greek, while Bryant thought 
that the Italian possessed more illustrative power than any other 
language. In order to test the comparative merits of the two 
languages, he proposed, that, if Mr. Zachos would recite some- 
thing in modern Greek, he would repeat a selection in Italian. 
The proposition was at once carried out; and Bryant chose a 
passage from Dante, and recited it with a power and enthu- 
siasm and fire which surjDrised his audience. ' It was a fine 
sight, and one to be remembered,' said Mr. Zachos: 'the 
white-haired old man, wrapt up in the beauty of what he was 
reciting, and almost oblivious of his surroundings, made the 
scene an impressive one. Aside from the beauty of the sight, 
it was a marvellous instance of the influence which the genius 
of song of any nationality had over the aged poet, enabling 
him to overcome for the time his habitual serenity.'" 

Of Bryant's choice of homes, with their outAvard sur- 
roundings and interior aspects, we have already spoken 
as indicating his refined and artistic taste. 
16 



236 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

His life-long interest in the fine arts, and his close 
friendship with distinguished artists, was evidenced by 
his honoured place in the Century Club, of which, it is 
said, he was the chief founder, and of which he was 
president when he died.^ 

He was ever held in high respect and admiration in 
his native state of Massachusetts; and the writer, during a 
ten months' sojourn at Williamstown, Berkshire County, 
in 1874-5, found that everybody there knew, and was 
proud of the fact, that the great poet and journalist had 
in youthful days been a student in Williams College, 
and that he still visited and continued to manifest a 
v/arm interest in his alma mater. In this connection we 
quote from a tribute subsequently paid to his memory by 
the Eev. Mr. Munger, in a sermon on laying up treasure 
in heaven : — 

"I have been unable, while bringing together these thoughts, 
to keep my mind from dwelling upon the death of the great 
man, who, while a loss to the nation, is peculiarly a loss to 
Berkshire Co. For here — not far from us — he was born. In 
the college near by he received in part his education. These 
mountains that rise about us awoke the poet's nature within 
him. The forests that clothe their sides are those of which 
he said that, ' The groves are God's first temples.' Their fallen 
leaves driven by the autumnal blast suggested that poem of 
sweetest sadness, 'The melancholy days are come.' By these 
road-sides spring the fringed gentian — 

« 'Blue, blue, as if the sky let fall 
A flower from its cerulean walP — 

a poem sufiicient to win immortality. Through these skies 
the waterfowl flew along its ' solitary way' that prompted the 
most perfect poem produced on this continent. It was nature 

1 A statue of Bryant, by J. S. Hartley, was presented to the Century Club in 
December, 1879 ; on which occasion addresses were delivered by Curtis and 
Osgood.— A. J. S. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 237 

as seen and felt in the 'visible forms' of these hills and woods 
and waters and skies, that furnished the framework of ' Thana- 
topsis/ the first American poem that gained foreign recog- 
nition, and one of the sublimest that ever came from the 
human mind, yet was the product of a boy of nineteen. 
Though his years have been spent elsewhere, and though the 
greater part of his labours were wrought in the metropolis, 
still Bryant belonged to this locality. The editor — the man 
of business — went to New York, but the poet remained in 
Berkshire. I could almost fancy, yesterday, that a sense of 
bereavement hung above these hills, and that the warm winds 
breathed dirge-like through the young leaves of the forest. 
Certainly, we have all remembered that he who put their 
suggestions into intellectual forms, and wrought their secret 
meanings into hymns of peace and trust, will never more 
behold them. They remain, but he who gathered them into 
the alembic of his thought, and gave them forth in forms of 
beauty and truth, has entered the world whose peace they 
continually foreshadowed to him. The life and character of 
Mr. Bryant aptly illustrate the subject of which I have 
spoken. More than almost any man I can now recall, he 
made every stage of his life a preparation for the stage to 
come. It was always on an ascending scale. Though he was 
most thoroughly in the world, he was not of it." 

An old acquaintance thus speaks of a week Bryant 
spent in Berkshire; which visit was probably paid just 
the year before he died : — 

" It was June, his favourite month. The weather was fine. 
Each day was spent on the hills or in the valleys. While 
passing from point to point he conversed freely; but while 
viewing the scenery he rarely spoke unless to direct my atten- 
tion to some object of peculiar interest. The week was, to me, 
a series of lessons in the art of perceiving beauty. At the close 
of the week, he was pleased to say that he had never passed a 
more peaceful one. He manifested a pleasant interest in the 
domestic worship of the family, and subsequently alluded to 



238 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BUYANT. 

it in a letter as a source of spiritual profit. His life during 
that week was a beautiful poem. May not the remark be made 
with reference to his whole life?" 

In December, 1877, scarcely seven months before his 
death, the veteran poet was invited by the alumni of. 
Williams College to prepare and read a poem at their 
next Commencement Meeting, as he had done at Harvard 
in his young days, when he recited " The Ages." To this 
request, however, in a conscientious, friendly spirit, he 
now, in a beautiful letter, declined to accede — fearing 
that the students, as well as himself, might be disap- 
pointed with the degree of excellence he might attain, 
should the result, in any way, fall short of their expec- 
tations : — 

" You ask me," said he, " for a few lines of verse to be read 
at your annual festival of the alumni at Williams College. 
I am ever ill at occasional verses. Such as it is, my vein is 
not of that sort. I find it difficult to satisfy myself. Besides, 
it is the December of life with me, I try to keep a few flowers 
in pots — mere remembrances of a more genial season which is 
now with the things of the past. If I have a carnation or two 
for Christmas, I think myself fortunate. You write as if I had 
nothing to do, in fulfilling your request, but to go out and 
gather under the hedges and by the brooks a bouquet of 
flowers that spring spontaneously, and throw it upon your 
table. If I am to try, what would you say, if it proved to be 
only a little bundle of devil-stalks and withered leaves, which 
my dim sight had mistaken for fresh, green sprays and blossoms? 
So I must excuse myself as well as I can, and content myself 
with wishing a very pleasant evening to the foster-children of 
old 'Williams' who meet on New Year's Day, and all manner 
of prosperity and honour to the excellent institution of learn- 
ing in which they are nurtured." 

To the gentleman who, after reading " The Flood of 
Years," wrote a letter of inquiry as to his faith in tho 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 239 

immortality of the soul, Bryant, as we have seen, had 
unfalteringly declared his unqualified belief in the great 
realities of religion. An editorial associate also tells us 
that, in talking over that subject, when Canon Farrar's 
Eternal Hope was published, Bryant said that he had 
fully satisfied himself, years ago, on the subject of a 
future life; that he had carefully gone over the whole 
ground, and his confidence could not be shaken. A refer- 
ence to his own approaching end was made in precisely 
the same way as he would have referred to an approach- 
ing change from his city house to his Koslyn home; for 
he habitually contemplated death very much in that way. 
Imbued with the celestial graces of faith, hope, and 
charity, his pure, noble, and consistent life, as well as 
his v/ritings, whether poetry or prose, all testify to his 
being, truly and essentially, a religious man. 

Bryant says, in a letter written from Roslyn to General 
Wilson, near the close of the last winter of his life, and 
relating to an invitation to be his guest over-night, when 
in the city on the occasion of a dinner given to Story, 
of Eome, the American sculptor, who was then visiting 
his native land after an absence of twenty years : — 

" I have your obliging note of the tenth of this month. In 
the fulfilment of an engagement which dates back several 
months, the Goethe Club is to give me what is called a recep- 
tion on Tuesday evening (to-morrow). I have had my home 
in town put in order within a day or two, so that I can sleep 
there; but old age is so sensitive that I cannot be out two 
nights together without feeling it unpleasantly, and I cannot 
afford to be inattentive to such admonitions. I must, therefore, 
trust to the indulgence of your committee to excuse me from 
being present at the banquet, though I consent that my name 
may appear in the list of those who pay this tribute to the 
genius of Mr. Story. I inclose a more formal letter of excuse 
to the committee." 



240 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

"Having passed," says General Wilson, "by more than 
three winters, what the Psalmist calls ' the days of our years,' 
and escaped the 'labour and sorrow' that are foreboded to 
the strength that attains fourscore, Bryant continued to per- 
form his daily editorial duties, to pursue his studies, and to 
give the world his much-prized utterances, without exhibiting 
any evidences of physical or mental decay, although, for a good 
part of half a century he was under whip and spur, with the 
daily press for ever, as Scott expressed it, * clattering and 
thundering at his heels.' On the evening of January 31st, 
1878, he walked out on the wildest night of the winter, when 
a blinding snow-storm kept many younger men at home, to 
address a meeting of the American Geographical Society, and 
to take part in the cordial welcome extended to the Earl of 
Dufferin, then the genial and accomplished Governor-General 
of Canada. When the president of the society sent for a 
carriage and urged the aged poet, at the close of the meeting, 
to make use of it, he sturdily refused, saying that he preferred 
to walk home. 

"Among Mr. Bryant's latest utterances was the following 
noble Ode, written for Washington's birth-day, February 
22nd, 1878, in The Sunday School Times: — 

" ' Pale is the February sky. 

And brief the mid-day's sunny hours; 
The wind-swept forest seems to sigh 

For the sweet time of leaves and flowers. 

" ' Yet has no month a prouder day, 

Not even when the summer broods 
O'er meadows in their fresh array. 
Or autumn tints the glowing woods. 

" ' For this chill season now again 

Brings, in its annual round, the morn 
When, greatest of the sons of men. 
Our glorious Washington was born. 

" ' Lo, where, beneath an icy shield. 
Calmly the mighty Hudson flows ! 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 241 

By snow-clad fell and frozen field 
Broadening the lordly river goes. 

" * The wildest storm that sweeps through space, 
And rends the oak with sudden force, 
Can raise no ripple on his face 
Or slacken his majestic course. 

" ' Thus, 'mid the wreck of thrones, shall live 
Unmarred, undimmed, our hero's fame, 
And years succeeding years shall give 
Increase of honours to his name.' " 

In reference to this last poem the Eev. Henry W. 
Bellows said: — 

" Bryant's genius sprang complete into public notice when 
he was still in his teens; it retained its character for sixty 
years almost unchanged, and its latest products are marked 
with the essential qualities that gave him his first success. 
Never, perhaps, was there an instance of such precocity in 
point of wisdom and maturity as that which marked ' Thana- 
topsis,' written at eighteen, or of such persistency in judg- 
ment, force, and melody as that exhibited in his last public 
ode, written at eighty-three, on occasion of Washington's last 
birth-day. Between these two bounds lies one even path, 
high, finished, faultless, in which comes a succession of poems, 
always meditative, always steeped in the love and knowledge 
of nature, always pure and melodious, always stamped with 
his sign-manual of flawless taste and gem-like purity — but 
never much aside from the line and direction that marked the 
first outburst and the last flow of his genius." 

"Still later (May 15th, 1878) Mr. Bryant wrote, at Eoslyn, 
the following characteristic sentiment contributed to a Decora- 
tion Day number of The Recorder: — 

" ' In expressing my regard for the memory of those who 
fell in the late civil war, I cannot omit to say that, for one 
result of what they did and endured — namely, the extinction 
of slavery in this great republic — they deserve the imperish- 
able gratitude of mankind. Their memory will survive many 



242 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

thousands of the generations of spring flowers which men will 
gather to-day on their graves. Nay, they will not be forgotten 
while the world has a written history.' " 

In the summer of 1878, less than a month before his 
death, the following letter of apology for absence, written 
by Bryant to the Eev. Dr. John H. Vincent, and relating 
to the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle, was 
read aloud at Fairpoint, New York, and is valuable as 
setting forth the poet's mature views as to the relative 
positions of science and religion : — 

"New York, May 18, 1878. 
" My dear Sir, — I cannot be present at the meeting called 
to organize the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle, but 
I am glad that such a movement is on foot, and wish it the 
fullest success. There is an attempt to make science, or a 
knowledge of the laws of the material universe, an ally of the 
school which denies a separate spiritual existence and a future 
life ; in short, to borrow of science weapons to be used against 
Christianity. The friends of religion, therefore, confident that 
one truth never contradicts another, are doing wisely when 
they seek to accustom the people at large to think and to 
weigh evidence, as well as to believe. By giving a portion of 
their time to a vigorous training of the intellect and a study 
of the best books, men gain the power to deal satisfactorily 
with questions with which the mind might otherwise become 
bewildered. It is true that there is no branch of human 
knowledge so important as that which teaches the duties that 
we owe to God and to each other ; and that there is no law of 
the universe — sublime and wonderful as it may be — so worthy 
of being fully known as the law of love, which makes him who 
obeys it a blessing to his species, and the universal observance 
of which would put an end to a larger proportion of the evils 
which afi'ect mankind; yet is a knowledge of the results of 
science, and such of its processes as are most open to the 
popular mind, important for the purpose of showing the dif- 
ferent spheres occupied by science a,nd religion, and preventing 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 243 

the inquirer from mistaking their divergence from each other 
for opposition. 

" I perceive this important advantage in the proposed orga- 
nization, namely, that those who engage in it will mutually 
encourage each other. It wdll give the members a common 
pursuit, which always begets a feeling of brotherhood ; they 
will have a common topic of conversation and discussion, and 
the consequence will be that many who, if they stood alone, 
might soon grow weary of the studies which are recommended 
to them, will be incited to perseverance by the interest which 
they see others taking in them. It may happen in rare in- 
stances that a person of eminent mental endowments, which 
otherwise might have remained uncultivated and unknown, 
will be stimulated in this manner to diligence, and put forth 
unexpected powers, and passing rapidly beyond the rest be- 
come greatly distinguished, and take a place among the lumi- 
naries of the age. I shall be interested in watching, during 
the little space of life that may yet remain to me, the progress 
and results of the plan which lias drawn from me this letter. — 
I am, sir, very trtdy yours, W. C. Bryant." 

Bryant was long associated with the late Evert A. 
Duychinck — editor of the Cyclo])ecUa of American Litera- 
ture, and a most accomplished essayist and critic — in 
editing a sumptuous edition of Shakspere. It was 
completed before his death, and was then only waiting 
for better times, to be published in four elegant quarto 
volumes. 

In addition to the works already enumerated as being 
edited by Bryant at the time of his death, he was writing 
an introduction to a work called Thoughts on a Religious 
Life, by the Eev. Joseph Alden, principal of the State 
Normal School at Albany, who was an old and early 
friend of the poet. Bryant left it unfinished, so that 
several gaps remain unsupplied. This was the friend who, 
unknown to Bryant, had compiled the admirable text- 



244 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

book for schools called Studies in Bryant, and who, on its 
completion, got the venerable poet to write the introduc- 
tion, which is as masterly as it is modest. 

The following reliable, conclusive, and satisfactory testi- 
mony, which perfectly accords with that of ; so many 
others, is borne, by an old acquaintance of the poet's, to 
the sure ground of his hope : — 

" I saw Mr. Bryant for the last time a few weeks before his 
death. Eeference having been made to the close of life, I 
asked him if the sentiment expressed in one of his poems was 
habitual with him. He repeated the passage alluded to, — 

" 'Can neither wake the dread, nor the longing, to depart;' 

and he said the sentiment was habitual, and then, with great 
liumiUty and simplicity, expressed his entire reliance upon 
Christ for salvation." 



CHAPTER XIV. 

1878 : Mazzini Inauguration Day — Sad Accident to Bryant- 
Illness — Death — Funeral — Critical Estimates. 

Mazzini Bust Inauguration in Central Park— Bryant's Conversation with 
General Wilson before and after the Oration— Sad Accident to Bryant— 
His Illness— Death— Funeral Service— Bellows' Address— Burial at Roslyn 
in June— Surviving Relatives— Jones' Critique on Bryant and some of his 
Contemporaries— Ray Palmer on the Poet— Osgood's Idea of a Fitting 
Memorial —Bigelow on Bryant's Genius, Self-restraint, and Noble Cha- 
racter—Both Bryant's Life and Poems well worthy of Careful Study. 

Bryant, as we have seen, was frequently called upon 
to deliver addresses and orations on public occasions — 
chiefly to honour the memory of distinguished men. The 
last occasion on which he so appeared was on the 29th of 
May, 1878, when the bronze bust of Mazzini, the Italian 
patriot, was unveiled in Central Park. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 245 

Bryant drove to the park in his carriage early in the 
afternoon; but, for the sad event of that day, we cannot 
do better than quote from the narrative of his friend, 
General Wilson, who was with him, and who has given 
us an account of the proceedings, in his memoir of Bryant, 
prefixed to the Library of Poetry and Song: — 

" I met Mr. Bryant in the park," says General Wilson, 
"about half an hour before the commencement of the cere- 
monies, conversing with him during that time, and again for 
a similar period after those ceremonials were concluded. . . . 

"At the proper time Mr. Bryant took his seat on the plat- 
form — for he had been standing or seated under the welcome 
shade of adjoining elms — and presently he proceeded with the 
delivery of the last of a long series of scholarly addresses 
delivered in New York during the past thirty years. As I 
gazed on the majestic man, with his snow-white hair and 
flowing beard, his small, keen, but gentle blue eye, his light 
but firm lithe figure, standing so erect and apparently with 
undiminished vigour, enunciating with such distinctness, I 
thought of what Napoleon said of another great singer who, 
like our American poet, reached an advanced age to which 
but few attain, and which was equally true of Bryant : ' Be- 
hold a man!' 

" The delivery of the oration, which affords most interesting 
evidence of the enthusiasm and mental energy of its aged 
author, it is to be feared, drew too heavily on the poet's fail- 
ing powers. It was uttered with an unusual depth of feeling, 
and for the first time in his public addresses, so far as I am 
aware, he hesitated and showed some difficulty in finding his 
place in the printed slip which was spread before him, and in 
proceeding with his remarks. During the delivery of his 
speech he was slightly exposed to the hot sun, an umbrella 
being held over his 

" ' Good gray head, which all men knew,' 

till he reached his peroration, when he stepped from under its 
shelter, and, looking up at the bust, delivered with power and 



2i6 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRTANT. 

great emphasis, wliile exposed to the sun, the concluding 
paragraph of his address : — ' Image of the illustrious champion 
of civil and religious liberty, cast in enduring bronze to typify 
the imperishable renown of thy original ! Eemain for ages 
yet to come where we place thee, in this resort of millions; 
remain till the day shall dawn — far distant though it may be 
— when the rights and duties of human brotherhood shall be 
acknowledged by all the races of mankind ! ' 

"At the conclusion Mr. Bryant w^as loudly applauded, 
and resuming his seat again on the platform, he remained 
an interested listener to the address in Italian which fol- 
lowed his. At the close of the ceremonies, and when the poet 
was left almost alone on the platform, he took my offered 
arm to accompany me to my home, saying, that he was per- 
fectly able to walk there, or, indeed, to his own house in 
Sixteenth Street. Before proceeding, I again proposed that 
we should take a carriage, when the poet said, in a determined 
manner, ' I am not tired, and prefer to walk.' As we set off, 
I raised my umbrella to protect him from the sun, when he 
said, in a most decided tone, 'Don't hold that umbrella up on 
my account; I like the warmth of the sunshine.' He was 
much interested in a fine flock of sheep, together with the 
shepherd and his intelligent Scotch collie, that he observed as 
we passed across the green. 

" Mr. Bryant alluded to the death of Lord John Eussell the 
day before, and asked if I had ever met him or heard him 
speak in public, adding : — ' For a statesman, he devoted a good 
deal of time to literature, and he appears to have been a man 
of respectable talents. How old was he ? ' 'Eighty-six.' 'Why, 
he was older than I am ; but I expect to beat that and to live 
as long as my friend Dana, who is ninety-one.' 'Have you any 
theory as to the cause of your good health?' 'Oh, yes,' he 
answered; 'it is all summed wp in one word — moderation. As 
you know, I am a moderate eater and drinker, moderate in 
my work, as well as in my pleasures, and I believe the best 
way to preserve the mental and physical faculties is to keep 
them employed. Don't allow them to rust.' ' But surely,' I 
added, 'there is no moderation in a man of eighty-three, after 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 247 

walking more than two miles, mounting eight or nine pairs of 
staii-s to his office.' ' Oh/ he merrily replied, ' I confess to the 
two or three miles down-town, but I do not often mount the 
"Stairs ; and if I do sometimes, when the elevator is not there, I 
do not see that it does me any harm. I can walk and work as 
well as ever, and have been at the office to-day, as usual.' . . . 

" Passing the Halleck statue, Mr. Bryant paused to speak 
of it, of other statues in similar sitting posture, and of Halleck 
himself and his genius, for several minutes. 

"Still continuing to lean on my arm, he asked my little 
daughter, whose hand he had held and continued to hold 
during our walk, if she knew the names of the robins and 
sparrows that attracted his attention, and also the names of 
some flowering shrubs that we passed. Her correct answers 
pleased him, and he then inquired if she had ever heard some 
little verses about the bobolink. She answered yes, and that 
she also knew the poet who wrote them. This caused him much 
amusement, and he said, ' I think I shall have to write them 
out for you. Mary, do you know the name of that tree with 
the pretty blue .flowers]' he asked, and as she did not know, 
he told her that it was ' called the Paulovmia imperiaUs — a 
hard name for a little girl to remember; it was named in 
honour of a princess, and was brought from Japan.' 

"Arriving at the Morse statue at the Seventy-second Street 
gate, we stopped, and he said : — ' This recalls to my mind a 
curious circumstance. You remember Launt Thompson's bust 
which the commissioners refused to admit in the park, on the 
ground that I was living? Well, soon after, this statue of 
Morse was j)laced here, although he was alive, and [laugh- 
ingly] I was asked to deliver the address on the occasion of 
its unveiling, which I did.' 'Do you like your bust?' *Yes, 
I think it is a good work of art, and the likeness is pleasing 
and satisfactory, I believe, to my friends.' 'Which do you 
think your best portrait?' 'Unlike Irving, I prefer the por- 
traits made of me in old age. Of the earlier pictures, I pre- 
sume the best are Inman's and my friend Durand's, which you 
perhaps remember hangs in the parlour at Eoslyn.' 

"As we approached my house, about four o'clock, Mr. 



248 LIFE SKETCH OP WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Bryant was recalling the scenes of the previous year on the 
occasion of President Hayes's first visit to New York, and he 
was still, I think, cheerfully conversing on that subject as we 
walked up arm in arm, and all entered the vestibule. Disen- 
gaging my arm, I took a step in advance to open the inner 
door, and during those few seconds, without the slightest 
warning of any kind, the venerable poet, while my back was 
turned, dropped my daughter's hand and fell suddenly backward 
through the open outer door, striking his head on the steps. 
I turned just in time to see the silvered head striking the 
stone, and, springing to his side, hastily raised him up. He 
was unconscious, and I supposed that he was dead. Ice- water 
was immediately applied to his head, and, with the assistance 
of a neighbour's son and the servants, he was carried into the 
parlour and laid unconscious at full length on the sofa. He 
soon moved, became restless, and in a few minutes sat up and 
drank the contents of a goblet filled with iced sherry, which 
partially restored him, and he asked, with a bewildered look, 
'Where am I? I do not feel at all well. Oh, my head! 
my poor head ! ' accompanying the words by raising his right 
hand to his forehead. After a little, at his earnest request, 
I accomjDanied him to his own house, and, leaving him in 
charge of his niece, went for his family physician, Dr. John 
F. Gray." 

On reaching his home in West Sixteenth Street, Bryant 
had mechanically put his hand into his pocket, and was 
able to open the door with his latch-key. He called for 
his niece. Miss Fairchild, to whom General Wilson ex- 
plained what had occurred. He was put to bed, but in 
a few hours became unconscious. General Wilson sent 
us the following memorandum in pencil, written on 
the day of the accident: — "I think the sudden faintness 
that caused him to fall was probably owing to the heat 
of the sun on his bare head, combined with the excite- 
ment and fatigue of the occasion. I have not for years 
seen him more cheerful and tranquil than as we walked 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIxVM C. BRYANT. 249 

together through the park; and although he leaned some- 
what heavily on my arm, he did not complain of feeling 
exhausted." During the remaining thirteen days of his 
life he occasionally rallied sufficiently to speak, but was 
merely able to give a few simple directions. Paralysis of 
the right side supervened, and, his life gradually ebbing 
away, on Wednesday, June 12th, 1878, at twenty-five 
minutes before six o'clock in the morning, when asleep, 
he peacefully passed away to the realms of .light. 

On Friday morning, June 14th, his remains were re- 
moved to All Souls' Church, where the services, in 
accordance with his oft-expressed wish, were marked by 
extreme simplicity. 

The Rev. Dr. Bellows pronounced a funeral oration. 
The church was crowded with an immense audience, 
among which were the most distinguished men and 
women of New York; an unusually large number of 
venerable men; also delegates and representatives from 
the leading clubs, societies, and press organizations of 
the country; all were assembled, from far and near, to 
pay this their last tribute of respect. 

At the close of the address the choir sang Bryant's own 
hymn beginning, 

" Deem not that they are blest alone," 

to Beethoven's music — the tune called " Germany." The 
Lord's Prayer was then recited by the whole congrega- 
tion, and the mass of the people dispersed, while " The 
Dead March in Saul" was being played on the organ. 

" The coffin, which was covered with black cloth and mounted 
with silver, bore a plate with the inscription, 'William Culleu 
Bryant. Born November 3, 1794. Died Jmie 12, 1878.' Best- 
ing on the coffin was a spray of palm leaves, fastened together 
by a knot of white ribbon." 



250 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

It, and a few friends, were conveyed by a special train 
to Eoslyn, Long Island, wdiere it was placed in a hearse 
and borne to the cemetery — followed by the mourners, 
the relatives first and friends after, most of them choosing 
to walk — to be laid by the side of her whom he had loved 
below, and had now rejoined above. 

Dr. Bellows, standing at the head of the grave, read a 
few of Bryant's own poems which had been lovingly 
selected by the poet's brother as suitable for the occasion. 
The extracts were from the " Thanatopsis," beginning 
with the familiar verse, — 

" So live that when thy summons comes to join," 

and from the poems entitled, "To a Water-fowl," "A 
Hymn to Death," "The Battlefield," "Waiting by the 
Gate," the stanzas prefixed to " Thanatopsis " when first 
published, "The Journey of Life," "Poem Addressed 
to Mrs. Bryant in her Last Illness," "The Life that is," 
"October, 1866," "November 3, 1861," and "The Two 
Travellers." 

"The close of the address was a charge to the villagers pre- 
sent to ' cherish the precious heritage of dust,' and the assur- 
ance that in the future the best fame of Eoslyn would be that 
it is Bryant's resting-place. The Scriptural quotations of the 
Episcopal burial services were read ; a brief prayer was made, 
and the coffin was lowered into its place. Then a number of 
little children belonging to the Sunday-school of the village 
stepped forward, and, walking around the grave, threw flowers 
into it, until the box inclosing the coffin was covered. Several 
branches of the century plant, sent by the Century Club, were 
laid with the flowers. This closed the burial services, and the 
mourners slowly left the cemetery." 

Bryant had, in his lines to "June," written half a 
century before, expressed a desire that, when the end 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 251 

cainc, lie niiglit, unostentatiously, be laid in liis final rcst- 
ing-i»lace, in that montli of green leaves and flowers, and 
the poet's wish had now been gratified. General Wilson 
writes : — ■ 

" It was indeed a glorious day, and the daisies were dancing 
and glimmering over the fields as the poet's family, a few old 
friends, and the villagers saw him laid in his last resting-place 
at Eoslyn, after a few words fitly spoken by his pastor, and 
beheld his coffin covered with roses and other summer flowers 
by a little band of country children, who gently dropped them 
as they circled round the poet's grave. This act completed, 
we left the aged minstrel amid the melody dearest of all to 
him in life — the music of the gentle June breezes murmuring 
through the tree-tops, from whence also came the songs of 
summer birds." 

And Bigelov/ has said : — • 

" On one of the loveliest days of flowery June tLat the sun 
of Long Island ever shed its golden light upon^ his mortal 
remains were consigned to their last resting-place beside the 
tomb of her whose disembodied spirit, 

" ' Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same/ 

his had already joined. He seemed to leave this world with 
no wish, no ambition unsatisfied. His life showed no trace of 
disappointment. He had never allowed himself to desire what it 
did not please the Master to send to him, nor to repine for any- 
thing that was denied him. ' Thy Will be done,' was the daily 
prayer not only of his lips but of his heart and life." 

Of Bryant's immediate relatives, only two of his bro- 
thers survive out of a family of seven; these are Arthur, 
and John Howard Bryant. They were both farmers, and 
are men well-to-do, "conspicuous for a sturdy purpose, 
and a certain inflexible Puritan honesty." John is a man 
of refined taste, and in his younger days A\Tote some good 



252 LIFE SKETCH OP WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

verses "which have been widely copied, and have found 
their way into book collections. His present residence at 
Princeton, Illinois, was a gift from his deceased brother. 

Bryant also left two daughters, the elder of whom is 
the wife of Parke Godwin. 

On the poet's death, the tributes paid to his worth 
by the press were immediate, warm, and sincere. His 
memory is deservedly enshrined in that universal esteem 
and admiration which his noble life, as well as his literary 
achievements, had won for him. The man was greater 
than the scholar, and his character was as fine as his 
genius. 

The late venerable Dana wrote, to General James 
Grant Wilson, the following touching letter of inquiry: — 

" My dear General, — When the news of the accident reached 
Boston, I was ill and on my bed. My friends, fearing the 
effect which making known to me the condition of my dear 
old friend might have upon me, said nothing about it till the 
evening before he passed away from us. The last of my early 
friends is taken away from me, and left me an old, feeble 
man; but not for long — I must soon follow him. Will you, 
my dear sir, v/rite me what you can of the particulars 1 Every 
incident will be precious to me. 

" My son^ and I thank you for writing him to come to your 
house on this mournful occasion. He had the hope for an 
hour or two that he might be with you, but it was not to be. 
I have written all that I have strength for. My poor head ! 
— With sincere regards, Eichd. H. Dana." 

"Boston, No. 43 Chesnut Street, 
"June 17, 1878." 

William Alfred Jones, a distinguished American essayist 
and critic, in a letter, addressed to General Wilson, and 

1 a distinguislied lawyer in New York, and the well-known author of Two 
Tears before the Mast. An important case imfortunately prevented him from 
■being present at Bryant's funeral to represent his father.— A. J. S. 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 253 

Idnclly placed at our service, writes thus discriminatingly 
of Bryant and some of his contemporaries : — 

"Bryant seemed to me to rank next to Wordsworth in 
English literature in his peculiar walk, his truest disciple and 
'eldest apprentice in (his) school of art/ In our American 
Parnassus he is first of his class, and that the highest. With- 
out the sustained power and deep passion of Dana, equally with 
him he is supreme in sentiment and reflection, and superior in 
extent and variety in his rural pictures. Without the lyric fire 
and brilliant fancy and versatile genius of Halleck — as a j)oet, 
as a classical scholar, an orator and prose writer of the first class 
— Bryant occupied a position to which Halleck had no preten- 
sions. As a man — his purity and elevation of character, his 
activity and energy, physical and mental, his course of life, 
regular, exact, harmonious (of itself a poem), were patent to 
all who ever knew, or had even heard of him." 

Dr. Eay Palmer, in this same connection, has well 
said : — • 

"Its great authors are the glory of a nation. A man in 
whom true genius is developed and made practical is a mighty 
power. When such a man consecrates his rare gifts to good 
and useful ends, when he gives himself to the work of con- 
tributing to the elevation, refinement, and happiness of his 
fellows, and through a course of years reaches them with fresh 
and stimulating thoughts, making them half forget their cares 
and sorrows, and moving them to love what is purest, and to 
aspire to what is highest and most worthy, he deserves to be 
regarded as a benefactor of the world. His influence reaches 
far beyond the limits within which it is distinctly recognized ; 
and like fragrant odours that fill all the air, it refreshes thou- 
sands and makes their lives richer and better than they could 
otherwise have been. No people, therefore, are true to them- 
selves who do not reverently cherish and honour the names of 
those who have entertained and instructed them ; w^ho do not 
sacredly guard their reputations and endeavour to perpetuate 
their power." 



254 LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

The Eev. Dr. Osgood, in his address at the Memorial 
Meeting of the Goethe Club, said : — 

"His social life deepened with advancing years, and in his 
enthusiasm for public interest and associations during the last 
twenty years he seemed to have a second youth, more suscep- 
tible and sometimes more impulsive than his first youth. In 
fact, a new bloom seemed .to be budding within him, and 
to make us sometimes think that this century plant was 
waiting for the hundred years to bring out its final and full 
flowering. 

"The man himself is in his works. His gentleness was 
mated with strength that marked his character "and looked 
out from his face. He was a very mild, unpretending man, 
and not commanding in stature, yet it was hard to resist the 
impression of his having a certain grandeur of form as of 
spirit, and artists generally overdrew his figure and his face. 

" If I were asked to sketch a memorial for Bryant's memory 
I would not presume to do it. I would venture upon a hint to 
the competent artist. I would say, put something of Delphi and 
Jerusalem into your tribute to this Puritan Greek. Take from 
the Delphic porch the head of Homer and these two inscrip- 
tions : — 

" ' No excess,' 
"'Know thyself,' 

and then put a fitting statue in front. What shall this be? 
Not the Pythoness with the tripod from the cave beneath, 
where intoxicating gases breathed inebriation that was mis- 
called inspiration. Not that figure nor that earthly art, but 
put our poet himself there on a granite rock from his native 
hills, with one hand outstretched towards the fields and hills 
and waters, and the other lifted up and holding a scroll of the 
everlasting gospel and showing plainly the words of Christ, 
' The truth shall make you free.' So Delphi and Jerusalem, 
Greece and Judea, meet together in this man and give him 
hold on his country and the world. 

" Poet, patriot, man, friend of us all, father of our letters, 
what shall we say as we part? Farewell for ever? No; wel- 



LIFE SKETCH OF WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 255 

come for ever! Welcome to your lasting place in the love 
and honour of your countrymen. Welcome to your home in 
the kingdom of God, on earth and in heaven." 

And his editorial associate, John Bigelow, thus concluded 
his admirable address before the Century Club : — 

" Those who only knew him in his later years would scarcely 
believe that he had been endow^ed by nature with a very quick 
and passionate temper. He never entirely overcame it, but 
he held every impulse of his nature to such a rigorous account- 
ability that few have ever suspected the struggles with which 
he purchased the self-control which constituted one of the 
conspicuous graces of his character. Bryant had his faults, 
but he made of them agents of purification. He learned from 
them humility and faith ; a wise distrust of himself and an un- 
faltering trust in Him through whose aid he was strengthened 
to keep them in abeyance. They were the tears of angels 
which he converted into pearls. 

"It was this constant and successful warfare upon every 
unworthy and degrading propensity that sought an asylum in 
his heart, that made him such a moral force in the country, 
that invested any occasion to which he lent his presence with an 
especial dignity, that gave to his personal example a peculiar 
power and authority. No one could be much in the society of 
Bryant without feeling more respect for himself, without being 
conscious that his better nature had been awakened to a 
higher activity; without an increased reluctance to say or do 
anything which Bryant himself under similar circumstances 
would probably not have said or done. 

" Though not at all given to speak of himself or of his own 
habits and methods of life, the radiance of his example had a 
peculiar efficacy. Like the shadow of St, Peter, upon whom- 
soever it fell it seemed to exert a healing influence. In that 
bright example he still lives. To a life so full of wisdom and 
virtue, so complete and symmetrical, there is change, there is 
growth, there is immortality, but there is no death. The attri- 
butes of God are impeiishable." 



256 LIFE SKETCBl of WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Several odes, worthy of the poet's memory, have been 
written by Stedman, Stoddard, and others, which, but 
for space, we would have quoted here, as a fitting close 
for this volume. 

Now — bidding readers adieu! — we would, once more, 
earnestly commend both the example of the venerable 
Bryant's pure and noble life, and the teaching of his 
elevating poems — with their fresh love of nature, perdur- 
ing human interest, purity of thought, musical expression, 
simplicity, calm reflective wisdom, and spirituality of tone 
— to the careful study of all, young or old, who can 
appreciate that high order of genius wherein goodness, 
truth, and beauty, naturally blending together, are pre- 
sented, with consummate and exquisite art, 

"True to the kindred points of heaven and home!" 



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